


you heard the words inside my head

by strong



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Angst, Christmas, Fluff, Insomnia, M/M, also some gryles, and some side ziam, bookstore, pining i guess, so be aware of that, the idea of superheroes, zouis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-01
Updated: 2015-02-01
Packaged: 2018-03-10 00:56:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 38,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3270797
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/strong/pseuds/strong
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>"And with that life changing, mind bending, world altering conversation of pure nonsense and lame introductions and useless ice-breaking facts about anonymous royalty, Louis laughs. He laughs and smiles at Harry who returns the sentiment with sparkling sincerity and good God above, maybe this is what the beginnings of happiness feel like."</i>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>the one in which louis can't sleep and questions his life then meets a boy in a bookstore who helps him figure it all out</p>
            </blockquote>





	you heard the words inside my head

**Author's Note:**

> This started as a zouis drabble at two in the morning on some odd november night. I don't know how I rambled and dragged it out to this.
> 
> There's side Gryles, but it's not a real pairing. Purely used to add drama to the story. And it says Louis/Harry, but there's a ton of zouis (friendly, don't worry), so just beware of that in case you aren't a fan of their relationship!
> 
> I'd like to thank Adri (nightwideopen on ao3) for betaing this and for her moral support during this treacherous journey. There's no telling how many times I've whined to her about not wanting to write or forced her to motivate me/give me ideas. You're a trooper, my friend.

Sometimes Louis wishes he was a superhero. There's no deep meaning behind it or anything of the sorts— he's not smart enough to conjure up those sort of things. 

It's just that it seems like it'd be interesting. Living in a world where all the chaos and crime that goes on can be stopped by a single person in a marvelous costume. It's nothing like anything really is, so it's exactly where Louis wishes he could be.

Reality is a maze of paths and turns and secret trap holes that he knows he'll never learn his way through. It's a mess thrown together by people he doesn't know, individuals he couldn't care less about that in turn don't care about him either. What's the point of living somewhere that's been created with none of his own personal preferences in mind? 

Louis wishes he was a superhero. Then maybe everyone would care enough about him to formulate reality to his likings. Maybe they would ask for his opinion on the color of the sky, how large the population of the planet should be, which areas of the world should have what kind of weather. Each life he saves gives him a pass to alter the path of his own life for the better, everyone else disregarded as he perpetually is now.

For some reason, he figures superheroes are much more important than any normal person could ever be. Then that idea feeds into his thoughts about how any normal person is more important than _he_ will ever be.

"I'd be a terrible superhero," he mumbles to himself, voice lost in the fabric of his pillow.

The streetlights outside shine in thin lines through his blinds, landing across him in a pattern that forms to each curve of his bare back. Dancing across his sharp shoulder blades, bending with his knobby elbows. The orange rays contrast against his skin that's been made paler from the winter but somehow they still melt with it perfectly.

Sleep is a thing of the past for Louis. It has been for a while now. 

Ever since his mind decided to give up trying to maintain a stream of positive thoughts about himself, the hours of each day have grown longer, eventually fading into nothing more than numbers on a clock. They don't affect him anymore. Three in the morning harnesses no difference in his amount of tiredness than three in the afternoon does.

It should be a problem, certainly is a problem, but Louis doesn't care enough to address it.

After a few more minutes of daydreaming about alternate realities that will never materialize, he flips over onto his back, the beams of light painting his thin stomach now. There's one line in particular that falls directly on his nose. He can annoyingly see it from where he stares up at the ceiling, but moving even an inch seems like too much of a hassle now. Maybe the light is comfortable in its place. Who is Louis to bother it?

His eyes gaze at the stars glued to his flat ceiling. Green glow-in-the-dark stickers pressed on months ago by his and Zayn's feeble hands after Louis took an interest in them at a store earlier in the day and pouted until Zayn dropped them in the basket.

It's weird. They sit there in the same spot, glowing dimly from the light they saved up during the daylight hours, and he knows they're there. He can see them from the corner of his eye when he stares out the window some nights to take in the never-changing scene outside. When he chooses to look at the stars directly though, that's when they disappear, almost as if they don't want to be seen by Louis.

They hide away in the split second it takes for his eyes to hop around between other places and their homes above his bed. It's incredible really, thinking about how they seem to have minds of their own being inanimate objects. (Of course he understands that their disappearances have to do with the parts of the eye that work in the dark and everything - he pays some attention in psychology - but thinking about objects coming to life separates him from reality more and more so he hangs onto these fantasy ideas for his own selfish benefit.)

The clock on his phone reads two when he turns over to look at it. Two hours he's been sitting in bed now, two hours his thoughts have moved too quick for his brain to rest. There's no point in staying in bed. He can only handle so much fairytale thinking in one night. 

The wood floor is icy beneath his bare feet, his toes curling as soon as they touch down. Slippers would be a good addition to his wardrobe but until the task of buying them stops continually slipping from his mind, he'll have to deal with the burden of the cold floorboards during this deadly season.

Their heater is terrible. Cheap flats have cheap utilities; a revelation it took him all of two days after moving in to come upon. If there was anything either him or Zayn could do about it, it would've been done by now. They would be living luxuriously in a full time sauna, spending every day inside as if it isn't bitterly below zero right behind the thin walls.

The main room is still and quiet at this time of night. Orange beams followed Louis from his room to this one, highlighting the edges of their scattered furniture pieces, creating new patterns on the tattered couch they dragged up from an alley when they first moved in.

Louis doesn't know what to do really. All he knows is that he isn't tired and he's lonely with only his spectacularly abstract mental sentiments. Louis and himself– the dream team. The only two people who fully get and understand each other with no questions asked or wary looks cast as one tries to explain a complicated idea of how parallel universes work.

Cereal sounds nice. Yes of course, cereal is the answer to everything. When you're hungover, cereal; when you need a midnight snack, cereal; when you need a distraction to keep your mind from trailing off to the unfair logistics of the real world- cereal.

He pads through the dimly lit area to the small makeshift kitchen set off in the corner of the room. It's nothing more than a tiled space encircled with stained countertops and a fridge and a stove and a few bar stools on the outside, but it's enough. Louis avoids it most of the time anyways. He doesn't have many talents and one of those just out of his reach is the ability to cook anything. Dinners for him consist of various cereals, pot noodles, and the occasional microwaveable dinner such as the box sets Zayn buys specifically for him or sometimes dinosaur chicken nuggets from the bags he always sneaks into their basket.

Goose pimples arise on his skin as a particularly chilly gust of air brushes past his naked torso. One hand instinctively reaches up to rub quickly at his bicep before he realizes that it won't do much of anything anyways and gives up.

He stands on his toes as he extends an arm into the cupboard set high above him. There are several bowls close enough for him to grab with no struggle, but for some reason his favorite porcelain one with cat ears has been placed at the top. Louis doesn't even like cats — had a grudge against them ever since his sister's kitten tore up his signed Beckham kit when he was twelve, causing him to have a good cry and receive a heavy scolding for kicking the small animal — but this bowl is his. It's his that he got for one pound from an antique shop over the summer and he loves it whether it has the ears of childhood dream crushers attached to it or not.

When he finally gets it down with a near disastrous jump-and-nudge-and-catch move, he fills it to the brim with fruit loops then pours in an excessive amount of milk. Zayn's going to kill him for that. 

Zayn loves Louis. He's one of the few people who do, actually. Zayn just doesn't love when Louis uses all of the milk because then he has to go to the store to buy more and is forced to deal with that one fit cashier named L-something. Then, he comes back home to mope to Louis about said cashier while they sip on warm hot cocoa made with the new milk and, really, it's all a never ending cycle.

He grabs the bowl with bony fingers and holds it carefully in place as he moves over to the couch. It's a plain tan color, painted with spills and stains in a number of places. There are indents on each side that fit perfectly with each boy in the flat and Louis decides to sit in Zayn's. He's lonely and cold and the shape of someone else sort of takes away the sinking feeling in his chest as he munches on the colorful rings of sugar.

His eyes dart around the walls surrounding him, having nothing better to do. They're covered in pictures that Louis can't even remember being taken— photos of him on skinny guys' backs with a joint held tightly between his chapped lips or him at eighteen covered head to toe in neon paint, some of Zayn facing towards the wall in his bedroom, spraying a new creation onto whatever blank space he's found or cuddling with Louis in front of the TV, only their socked feet and blanket-covered legs in view. The few frames are coated in dust, never touched by a washcloth or feather duster because two lazy individuals live in this place and cleaning is at the bottom of every and all priority lists. The memories they hold though definitely hold higher status whether Louis actually remembers them or takes care of their home or not.

He's midway through the snack when the sound of a door opening has his jaw freezing in place. Footsteps follow, quietly, slowly making their way nearer to him until a body is huddled on Louis' usual side of the couch. Apparently Louis wasn't being as quiet as he thought he was.

Zayn's hair is sticking every which way, even his stubble seeming disheveled. His lips are chapped like he's been breathing with them open and there are creases on the side of his face from a pillow that make him look much less intimidating than normal. Sleep does that, he guesses. He would never really know though.

The other boy's limbs look just as skinny as Louis' do, only they're drowning in grey track pants and an oversized hoodie with a school that Louis is sure Zayn's never heard of printed on the front. The edges of the collar are cut and fraying and show off the tattoo that curls under his collar bones. He's a beautiful, tired mess. Louis frowns down at the cat bowl in self pity.

"Why're you up?" Zayn grumbles out. He's attempting to look at Louis but one eye is still closed and the one that's open only reveals a sliver of the gleaming caramel that hides behind the lids. Louis gives him credit for trying.

"Eating cereal," Louis replies simply, punctuating it with a loud crunch.

"Can't sleep?" And Zayn gets it. Louis nods timidly, his fringe sweeping down over his pale blue eyes.

He tucks himself impossibly tighter into the corner of the couch, like he could just slip into the cracks at some point and hide away like his sisters do when they play hide and seek when he visits home. The world is pretty big, big enough for million dollar mansions and killer whales and lies and so-called celebrities with big hair and big egos, but Louis always feels like he takes up too much space. Especially when he looks at Zayn, takes in the way the boy effortlessly manages to stay minuscule while showing himself on full display for the masses.

"Never sleep." Louis states, meeting Zayn's eye. "Too busy thinking."

Zayn's eye falls shut for moment, his head falling down along with his shoulders in a steady downward slope like he's in the midst of falling back asleep, but then he's sitting up again, eyebrows raised and eyes closed but paying attention nonetheless.

"Thinkin' bout wha'?" He slurs out, his tongue too lazy to pronunciate real words.

"Being a superhero. Alternate realities. All that shit," Louis shrugs before scooping another mouthful of cereal into his mouth. "Do you t'ink I'd ma'e a good hero?"

The statement is hazy but Zayn gets it. He always gets it. Sometimes Louis forgets how well Zayn knows him until times like this come along to prove that he cares past when they're high out of their wits, floating ten feet above the ground while they play racing games and give each other new hairstyles based on eighties cult films they’ve watched too many times.

"Course," Zayn nods. His head bobs too many times and Louis laughs because Zayn shouldn't be awake but he is and he's talking to Louis and it's funny. "You’re awesome. Your head is a little wonky but you’re sick. I would wanna be best friends with a superhero. Not your sidekick though.”

“Never my sidekick,” Louis confirms.

Zayn smiles at him. It’s sharp, lazy, and soft which is sort of Zayn summed up. Contradicting words make up his being, along with cigarettes, strong cologne, great weed, great hair. A heart too big for his chest too even, a mind double of Louis’ that makes extraordinary things in a less than ordinary world. He’s glad to have Zayn. If Zayn wasn’t his friend Louis would probably still be fascinated with him. He gets that way with people.

“Do you wanna sleep with me?” Zayn’s eyes are finally open, the eyelashes sticking together causing him to have to blink one too many times per second. 

Louis debates. Part of him wants to sit there on the couch, wasting the hours away with a ridiculous bowl and cold skin like he’s smoking up inside of a freezer, but then he doesn’t. He wants to curl up beside Zayn, sink into his sheets that have thread counts too high for Louis to remember, rest his head on a silk pillowcase as if it’s the last time he’ll have a nice bed.

“Yeah,” Louis gets out finally. He stands up slowly, stretching his limbs mindlessly as they unfold to their full five foot something figure. “Let me just-” 

He starts to say that he needs to put the cereal up but Zayn gets that too and takes the bowl away before Louis can finish the sentence, the words fading as if they’re smoke on his tongue. 

“Go get in bed. You can sleep on my side if you’d like.” And yes. Louis would love that.

-

Sometimes Louis wants to run away. From London, from the world, from the Galaxy as a whole and all the villains that are out to get him. A few quick steps and a carefully packed bag slung over one shoulder. An adventurous life that he's far too terrified to actually fall into.

Running away is still one of his specialties. He doesn't get far, never can and never will, but the thrill he gets from momentarily leaving everything behind and going somewhere he can call his own is enough to quench his thirst.

Today is one of those days where he doesn't feel like he belongs. The rooms of the flat too small, the furniture all too familiar. 

He woke up at near eight with a full six hours of sleep rooting for him and a stilled Zayn softly snoring behind his back. It took a total of fifteen minutes for him to decide that he needed to go somewhere, pack a bag, and head out the door into the bitter chill of the outside environment.

Somehow, someway, he's ended up in a bookshop. As he walked the streets, watching them wake up after a long night of resting, every building seemed to call out to him. Every tinsel wrapped Christmas tree on display in a front window beckoned him forward, every 'OPEN' sign and smell of baked goods trying to convince him to go over to them. He didn't give in though and walked forth into the one shop that didn't have any significant force drawing him to it.

_Stop being so stubborn_ , he notes mentally as a future reference. It's unlikely that he'll remember it in a few days anyways, but it doesn't hurt to at least _try_ to turn around his attitude even for a moment. 

The room he finds himself in is quaint and comfortable like an old shirt you sleep in twice a week. It's cluttered with too many books stuffed along walls and thrown over a few tables. It's disorganized, dusty, dimly lit and Louis has never felt more at peace.

There are no signs of any other life in the room apart from his own shallow breaths. Stillness is all his senses can pick up. Books set in place, two sitting chairs chilling in the back corner, an intricately designed wooden desk with a till set on top of it resting to his right. 

He moves carefully further into the shop, the wood creaking ever so quietly under each soft step. It smells like dust and cinnamon and vanilla and Winter and Louis takes in a deep breath of it as he nears one of the bookshelves to his left.

Scanning over the array of comic books stacked and stood against each other, his hand brushes across the cover of one that looks to be from decades ago. Sixties, seventies, eighties— there's no point learning the difference when he's currently in 2014.

The book is floppy and thin in his hand as he picks it up. He flips through the first delicate pages with caution, holding the book like it's a prized jewel on display in a gaudy art museum. Finally, when he's decided that it's worthy of his eyes to scan, he pads over and settles into the larger of the two chairs, the one by the tall lamp with the plusher leather cushions and a matching footrest in front of it.

Zayn would like this place, he thinks. He'll have to drag him here sometime when smoking in the back corners of grimy alleys becomes a thing of the past. 

With that thought, maybe he'll never get the chance to show Zayn this place after all, then. Grimy alleys are his second home. They'll never fade away.

He's getting lost in the middle of a strip where the odd hero fights off a cliché masked villain on the top of a clock tower when there's a voice cutting through the silence, startling Louis enough to make him drop the comic onto his lap.

"You do know we don't open til ten, right?" The voice is deep, raspy and slow. It sounds like it could cut through glass yet keep Louis warm at night after he kicks his only blanket to the ground. And maybe that's too much to imagine from just a sound, just nine simple words, but hell, Louis has an overactive imagination— exile him to Elba for it.

"I didn't know that, no," Louis responds, eyes aimlessly staring out the front window because there's still no person to be seen.

"Well," this guy responds lamely. Louis understands his dilemma. Forming coherent sentences before nine is a tricky task.

Footsteps start sounding off as the person gets closer to him. Louis hasn't the guts to turn around yet but in a matter of seconds there's no need for bravery anyways because there's the figure behind the voice.

A man, or boy, saunters from around the corner of a shelf, straight into Louis' line of vision. The details of him are a bit fuzzy, because of reasons being that Louis' glasses are a smidge dirty and scratched up and the lighting in this shop just doesn't have the willpower to gain enough strength for there to be proper color.

Nevertheless, Louis can make out some things. This boy is tall and thin with long, gently curled hair falling over his shoulders and cutting across the sides of his face. His clothes are oversized in a casual way, like how people typically dress in the winter. A reddish jumper hanging off his sharp shoulders, dark jeans clung tight to his skinny legs, socks pulled over his feet but hanging slightly at the toe where they've slid down.

He's sort of beautiful, with his entire body being daintily outlined by the weak sunlight shining through the clouds and pushing through the glass of the windows. It's not even beauty in a Zayn kind of brooding, mysterious, model-y way, but more of a subdued, under appreciated, fresh kind of way. It's a look that Louis never knew he was into until now and oh, yeah, he still hasn't properly seen this boy's face yet.

"Out of all these books you choose to read a _comic_ ," No Face chuckles, supposedly staring at Louis from a few feet away with crossed arms.

"I want an escape from reality and these skip straight to the point without all the introductions and terrible attempts at characterization," Louis blurts out. He goes to backtrack but a hum of acknowledgement stops him.

"Lots of novels do tend to drag on for a while, yeah," the boy nods and finally, _finally_ comes nearer to Louis. Unexpectedly, he sits down on the chair just a foot or so away. Louis' eyes take on a mind of their own as they follow each of the guy's movements with intense observation. "Comics don't have good literary devices in them though so I guess it all evens out."

From this view, Louis can see every detail now. Every facial feature from the bow of this boy's lips and the sparks in his green eyes to the freckle just below his mouth not only make themselves known, but practically yell at Louis to look and drink them in. He's got a kind face but greedy features and Louis is intrigued already.

"Comics use lots of newly invented words though," Louis states quietly, attempting to and miraculously succeeding at maintaining blue on green eye contact with this mysterious stranger.

"Well," the boy says, his brows pushing together in thought. "That's a good point I guess. I think I'll just let you win this debate. My points aren't nearly as strong as yours."

"Clearly," Louis sighs back. Conversations always go well until Louis decides to stop trying. He's not a man of much motivation, especially when it comes to socializing with those who aren't Zayn.

The single word seems to cause a ripple in the air of the room, tension rising just enough to set his nerve endings off into a frenzy. The nameless boy sits beside him wordlessly, minding his own business, wallowing in his own thoughts and eventually Louis decides to keep reading the comic because if he's not getting kicked out he might as well make use of the time.

"What's your name?" The boy questions slowly, cautiously. 

"Louis," he says curtly, eyes not picking up from the worn page.

"I can tell you're a tough thing, Louis," this guy has the audacity to say. Louis doesn't know if he should take offense to that or be proud. Tough isn't necessarily a degrading term, it's just. Nothing is ever said in a positive way to Louis. His functions are set to automatically assume the worst. "I'm Harry."

Louis places his feet on the foot rest in front of him. It's in this moment that he realizes he's put on two different socks; one burgundy and speckled with white dots and the other black and patterned with oddly shaped little drawings. There's no telling how that slipped past him this morning. His life is a mess, his mind is a mess, and now his outer appearance that was once the one thing he deemed acceptable about himself is becoming a complete and utter wreckage.

"Fucking socks," he grumbles to himself. His face is turned into an all around frown as he glares at his feet, wishing he had a form of telekinesis where he could change clothes with his mind.

"Most people just say 'Oh, hi Harry, nice to meet you', but that's acceptable too," Harry grins when Louis chances a glance over at him. Then he pinches his bottom lip between his thumb and forefinger, rolls it a bit, before speaking again. "Kings used to do that, you know. Wear different socks. They used to be given to royalty as, like, presents, and when the socks were worn mismatched it was a sign of a king's loyalty to his people."

Louis stares at him. He stares like Harry just casually explained how to create a drug that could be used to cure the common cold. Harry's just sprouted wings and a golden halo above his head. He busted down the fifth wall between this and other dimensions with a graceful trip over his own feet.

"So you're saying I'm a king then?" Louis asks with blank eyes.

"Precisely." The short curls that trace his sharp jawline bounce as he nods.

"What people am I being loyal to exactly?" 

It's a tough question. Truly is. But Harry answers it seamlessly. "Your family, friends, the people who made those socks. Maybe even to me, too, since you're newly crowned royalty and you've chosen to rest upon a throne in my little run down shop."

And with that life changing, mind bending, world altering conversation of pure nonsense and lame introductions and useless ice-breaking facts about anonymous royalty, Louis laughs. He laughs and smiles at Harry who returns the sentiment with sparkling sincerity and good God above, maybe this is what the beginnings of happiness feel like.

Weird.

-

"I met someone Zayn."

It's the first thing he says when he gets home from the first encounter with this Harry figure that consisted of a long hour or so of reading comics and exchanging lazy conversation as Harry sorted out new shipments. He's stocked full of energy, a thrilling buzz that hasn't been present for months now. It's odd and he's not entirely sure that he likes it but he has to tell Zayn about it either way.

"M?" Zayn hums from behind his coffee mug, suddenly tuning in to Louis. "You're dating someone?"

" _No_ , I just- I literally met someone," Louis explains. They're back in their respective places in the couch. Louis nudges a socked toe out to poke Zayn's skinny thigh. "A guy talked to me first and I responded and he called me a _king_. Who fucking does that? We only spoke a few words before he managed to make me smile and it's, like, weird. It's very weird in a pleasant-ish way."

Zayn's brain takes a few seconds to process the information, waking slowly from it's long hours of dreaming up concoctions of lightning and rain made of paint and Pakistani meatballs and whatever else the mysterious boy dreams of. With the amount of sleep he gets each night, it would be extremely disappointing if his dreams were anything but extraordinary.

"Maybe you're meant to be a king instead of a superhero," Zayn provides thoughtfully. Louis should've known better than to expect a real, blunt response to his petty rant - especially from a Zayn who just woke up mere minutes ago - but. He'll take what he can get.

"Truth," Louis nods. Point blank period.

Then they sit in silence for an infinite amount of time, watching a baking show where there's a lady smiling too much as she tries to explain how to make Christmas tree sugar cookies. They look delicious and Louis wishes he could bake. He wishes he could cook in general, honestly. Always has, always will. 

Eventually Zayn has to go to work at the cheap corner shop around the block, going against Louis' protests about not wanting to be alone. He gives Louis a sad look and gets up, walking slowly into his room to get changed without shutting the door behind him.

Louis doesn't know if he's lucky or unlucky in the sense that he doesn't need to have a job while he's in school. He's one of those kids that has money for school from some mysterious dead grandfather's will and has another set of wealthy grandparents who constantly send him checks with flowers on them that hold a sum nearly too large for Louis to comprehend.

In summary, he's getting by without much work and he should feel bad but he doesn't. He helps pay the rent and utilities, hands over some bills for food when necessary, and occasionally buys new doohickies — as Zayn takes to calling them — to add to their flat's collection of useless items. It all balances out in the end.

The lack of a busy schedule conveniently leaves time for him to do nothing. 'Nothing' for Louis consists of writing and staring at the ceiling and smoking out on the fire escape while his feet dangle above the passersby scurrying around below. It gives him free time to let his mind wander off to a distant place, another universe maybe where things are great and Louis isn't even Louis anymore.

Once Zayn leaves with a quick kiss on the cheek and a gloomy 'see you later', Louis pulls himself up and straight out of his bedroom window to the aforementioned fire escape, only pausing to swipe a pack of Dunhills and a lighter. The brand isn't normally what Louis buys, but he ran out a day or two ago so he's been borrowing from Zayn's stash. They're a bit too flavorful for his own taste, but they soothe the craving all the same.

It's chilly as he steps outside, snow blowing around just thick enough to see, and the second Louis takes a seat on the cold metal, he begins shivering.  His socked feet move quickly with minds of their own trying to gain some heat while he lights up a cigarette. The wind makes it difficult but he gets the job done soon enough then pops the stick in his mouth.

Huddling further into the oversized hoodie that hangs off of his thin shoulders, he peers down at the sidewalk below. The only people mucking about at this time of day are businessmen and women clad in layers of dark, expensive clothing, and teenagers laughing as they stroll to whatever destination they've deemed exciting enough to hang out at today. Louis watches them all with interest, eyeing their body movements and trying to listen to their distant voices.

Somehow, someway, as he takes another drag, his mind trails off to the boy he met earlier. 

Harry.

Harry with his green eyes and deep laugh and clumsy limbs that tangle with each other all too much for their own good. It's all taking up too much space in Louis' mind. He doesn't know what to do about it. No matter how hard he tries to wield his thoughts away, he keeps ending up back where he started, daydreaming about how Harry indirectly called him a king and acted like Louis wasn't just an average person but something more, something complex and interesting. 

He doesn't know how Harry manages to do it considering they've only spoken one time. Maybe he's the superhero. Maybe all of Louis' wishing and longing about being one has been stirred together and materialized as Harry. A pure concoction of everything Louis has ever wanted, and all that he believes he needs, with the added bonus of having super powers strong enough to break the tough wall Louis has built around himself. Harry must be the true enigma of them two and Louis doesn't know if his mind will give up on figuring the boy out.

His nose is red and his ears are starting to hurt but the freezing temperature helps to suppress his internal sanity. So he suffers, sits out on the escape as the cigarette eventually dies away. He flicks it to the ground without a care, his senses too busy being hogged by something more importantly.

Harry. 

Harry.

_Harry._

-

As four days pass uneventfully, Zayn busies himself with marking the corresponding number of boxes off on their 'Days Til Louis Is 22' list on the fridge. There's only 15 boxes left empty now and Louis avoids looking at them, going as far as closing his eyes whenever he needs to grab something in the general direction of the sheet of paper.

He doesn't want to get older. Age means responsibility and while he's already legally an adult now, he doesn't like the weight of real life weighing down on his shoulders at all times. At the moment, 21 is doing a great job at keeping his worries about that stuff at bay. 22 is starting to tip the kettle.

They still haven't decorated their flat, he notices while he waits for his morning tea to boil. He hadn't slept for more than three hours total, so the feeling of déjà vu is overwhelming as he sits back on the same stool he was perched on mere hours ago restlessly chewing up small bites of Corn Flakes from his trusted cat bowl.  

All the space around him is too dull and lifeless for what the season should look like. Christmas is a time for cheer, happiness, or, at least in Louis' case, a time to mope just a little less about what happens in the world on the other three hundred and forty days of the year. He feels like they should at least have a Christmas tree to ring in the holiday spirit.

So in a spur of the moment decision, he paces back to his bedroom to change. He throws on layer after layer of thick clothing, covering himself from head to toe in nothing but wool and cotton that are sure to fight willfully against the bitterness of London's winters.

He grabs a mug with a crude drawing of a penis on it and pours the ready tea into it, sipping the beverage down some so that it doesn't sit so close to the brim, deterring the chance at it spilling over as he walks. Then, with a quick snatch of his phone and wallet, he's out the door, making his way straight outside to the welcome environment of the city, all hazily lit up by the dim morning glow of the orange sun and muted by the falling of thin snowflakes.

It's eight a.m. on a Wednesday so he has to fight his way through small bunches of late-goers, quickly jogging in their heeled shoes to get to whatever workplace they're attached to. He just gives them sorry looks and sips his drink. Running late is his specialty, his one undeniable talent, so he empathizes with the pain others go through too, especially on slurry mornings like these.

The lights that decorate the light poles and various doorways and windows have all been shut off for the day, sitting dull in their places, waiting for their opportunity to shine and show off their radiance for people who need it most. Louis is one of those people but he's also one of those people who doesn't fancy strolling the streets at night alone just to get a glimpse of a few twinkling candy canes.

Somehow he remembers the path that leads to the bookshop. It's not too far of a trek, but lengthy enough that by the time he sets foot on the dirty welcome mat in front of the burgundy door, his inappropriate mug only has a sips worth of tea left lingering at the bottom of it. He gulps it down quickly before quietly opening the squeaky door, noting the dinging of bells above him that weren't present last time — obviously an investment due to his past visit.

"Hello? Is anyone here?" He calls out into the shop before he gets too far inside, just in case no one really is there. He doesn't feel like being charged with breaking and entering or robbery a mere two weeks before Christmas.

For a moment he thinks that calling another greeting louder would be appropriate, but just as he opens his mouth to sounds out the first syllable, there's muffled thumping coming from somewhere in the shop and then a door at the back is swinging open, only to reveal a figure that makes his chest tighten a little.

"'Ello?" Harry slurs out in a voice that's somehow deeper and rockier than it normally is.

"Hi," Louis says quietly, eyes locked on the boy who stands meters away. Harry's got on loose sleep pants and a wrinkled t-shirt that looks like he just grabbed from the floor and tossed on. His hair is mussed in every direction, eyes hooded but not squinting as much as Zayn's do each day. He looks absolutely cozy, like the personification of cuddling in front of a fireplace in the dead of a cold night. "It's, uh, Louis. From Saturday."

It seems to take a second for it to click in Harry's brain. It does soon enough though and he rubs at his eyes then pushes his hair back before taking long, slow strides forwards towards Louis. He stops when they're just about a foot or more apart, eyeing Louis with a look that can only be described as shock. (Louis disregards the scrunch of Harry's eyebrows figuring it's more towards his tiredness in being newly woken up than the idea of him coming into the shop for a visit.)

"Socks and kings, yeah," Harry nods, clearing his throat after his voice cracks. "I clearly need to remember to lock the door at night. Why're you here at eight in the morning anyways? Have a penchant for coming into closed shops and making the owners get out of bed three hours too early?"

Louis hums. "Thought you opened at ten?"

"Eleven on weekdays," Harry informs him. Well.

"Oh," Louis says. He sort of panics on what to do and say now, feeling that his reason for coming is a bit rude with what Harry said about being dragged from bed and whatnot. "Sorry then. I guess I should just-"

"Wait, no. Um, did you need something?" Harry asks it with genuinity, soft lips pressing into a tight line as he stares at Louis expectantly (or hopefully?).

"Well, yes," Louis starts then pauses. "I just. It seems a little rude to bring it up now since I've gone and came in and forced you to get up too early, and, I mean, we're practically _strangers_ still so."

“ _'So'_ what? I was already up just laying in bed and I don't mind strangers. Can't be friends before being strangers. And remember, you're royalty," Harry smirks lazily, too lazy to _actually_ be considered flirting but Louis is sad about everything so he has an excuse to wish for unrealistic things.

"Fine. Only because you called me a king and I like the idea of that," Louis states mindlessly. "I need help getting a Christmas tree."

The blank stare Harry gives him makes Louis want to shrink in on himself. He knew it'd be a dumb question, that he should've just woken Zayn up for the task. He's already gone and overstepped some imaginary courtesy boundary that's automatically set between new acquaintances.

"Oh," Harry breathes out. His eyes are wider and more alert now, slowly coming to and shining with a magnificent force of green and flecks of gold. "Well. I should get dressed then."

"So you're going to help me?" Louis asks feebly.

"Obviously," Harry responds with a smile. "You're interesting and seem nice enough. I need to do _something_ to get to know you better, and this is a perfect opportunity."

There's no words that can be tied together well enough to formulate a response for that. Nothing Louis can say can express the shock and thankfulness and albeit a surge of minuscule happiness that thrums inside of him. So instead of sounds, he uses actions, smiling as brightly as physically possible at Harry and nodding his head dumbly.

Harry leads him upstairs then, captures Louis' hand in his large one as he insists that Louis wait comfortably while he changes. Louis doesn't protest too much after a weak initial _"no it's fine, really"_ that did nothing but mark up Harry's determination.

"I like your mug," Harry laughs as they climb up the steep wooden steps at the back of the shop, him leading the way as Louis trails a step behind.

"Thanks," Louis returns brightly, genuinely feeling complemented by Harry's adoration towards the cup.

When they reach the top of the staircase, Louis awkwardly attempts to remove his hand from Harry's. He acts like he's coughing as he slowly tugs from the boy's tight grip, but Harry sees through him anyways, eyeing him worriedly but not addressing the situation. It's nice to see that Harry is catching on to Louis' silent rules fairly quickly.

"Just sit on the couch or whatever you'd like, doesn't matter much to me what you do while you wait. I'll just get ready and let you know when I'm good to go," Harry says, jerking a thumb in no specific direction.

"Yeah," Louis nods minutely. "Alright."

Harry smiles at him once more before turning on one foot and padding across the dark wood to a room a few meters away and closing the door quietly behind him. Louis' eyes dart to the sofa mentioned before and he saunters over to it before sinking into the plush cushions, wiggling around a lot, feeling odd without a pre-made dent already waiting for him to fill.

The room can hardly be described as a flat, honestly. It's a tiny space, separated only by a small rug in the den and a small island counter for the kitchen. Two regular sized doors lead off to what he assumes to be Harry's room and a bathroom, and there's another skinny door just big enough for a coat closet, pressed in the corner of the room behind where the 'front door' would be, had it not been taken off the hinges and replaced with two pulled-back, sheer curtains. There's not even a dining table, Louis notes, so apparently there _are_ actual people living just as off put as him. Refreshing.

The decorations speak for themselves in what kind of guy Harry is. There's no obnoxious posters crumbling on the white walls or obscure clocks ticking from beside pictures of space aliens painted straight onto the walls as there are in Louis' flat. 

All there is to this place, really, is cozy, comforting pieces such as what he figures are family portraits (due to the resemblances of the figures posing beside Harry in them), photographs of scenery and random places in the city filling the left over frames, candles resting on each flat space, all melted at least half way down their jars. There are a few plants, he sees too, and he's not sure whether they're real or not but they look sick anyways. Maybe he'll have to buy a tiny tree or miniature cactus sometime. Zayn probably wouldn't mind some more life in their home that's practically on it's death bed.

Red curtains hang over the open windows, letting in streaks of sunlight tinted pink by their passing through the fabric. Louis' eyes glance around, watching as the light falls upon the old, dull floors and does pirouettes over the glass of the picture frames.

After a few minutes, he shuts his eyes. There's no accurate way of telling how long he sits there relishing in the scents of dusty wood and creamy vanilla before Harry emerges from his bedroom with an announcement that he's ready to go, but all Louis knows for sure is that it wasn't long enough. He needs to stay and get each detail of the comfortable home etched permanently into his memory, just as a precaution in case he never gets the chance to experience it again.

And as he gets up, stretching his arms and scratching lazily at his scalp under his beanie, Louis fully denies that he feels a drop in his stomach at the thought of never being invited into Harry's home again. Even the idea of that happening is preposterous. Kings don't get attached to scraggly boys and dingy apartments that quickly, so clearly, that is _not_ the case. 

And he is a king of course. The scraggly boy with the Santa hat on that's already chipping away bits and pieces of Louis' iron-caged heart told him so.

-

Christmas tree shopping is going as well as Louis could’ve hoped it would. They’re prancing around some little grassy patch on the outskirts of the city, a forest of evergreen trees waiting for their chance to be taken away somewhere new and warm. 

Neither of them know how to choose a good tree, obviously. And every time they ask a worker they just have to slowly walk away before they get scammed into buying a twig of a tree for three hundred pounds. It’s a hearty task, it is. This may be Louis’ first and last year trying to do this. Fake trees come in boxes at Tesco in colors other than Slightly Brown, Mostly Green, Mucky Green, and Questionably-Turquoise.

So far Harry has cooed at every one of them, fawning over the supposedly fantastic branches or the strong stem, whatever all of that matters. He keeps telling Louis that every tree deserves a home and Louis just bites back that this isn’t an animal shelter. Harry shrugs and continues on anyways, not bothered by Louis’ annoyance at all to Louis’ slight dismay and smidge of surprise.

Harry trails in front of Louis, the grey skies not doing anything to dim his radiance. He’s still wearing the Santa hat, his long curls falling out from underneath the fuzzy brim. His maroon sweater falls down to the tops of his thighs below a tan coat so Louis can’t get a view of what his bum looks like in the tight jeans, but he enjoys the strong legs in all of their stretched out glory.

“Trees don't die when they're cut down, so do you think they spend the rest of their lives in misery because they've been taken from their homes?" Louis needs to not ask questions like that to people he's just met, but. Louis' mind and Louis' tongue are two different entities. 

"Never thought of it that way," Harry hums. He slows his steps until they're leisurely strolling through the grass, eyeing over every candidate sprawled before them. "But probably, yeah. Sad life they live. Now I just want to adopt them all even more."

"You're ridiculous," Louis scoffs.

Harry just smirks at him in a dopey yet all-knowing way, like Louis just grimaced after kissing a puppy on the nose but Harry knows that Louis secretly loves dogs. It's a terrible metaphor, he knows, because he doesn't particularly love dogs anyways, but life is terrible so literary references within it are allowed to be terrible too. Harry is too hard to describe for Louis to constantly keep up with a supply of decent metaphors for him.

"You've got an odd mind, you know? Complex. But in a good way." Harry nods as he says it, acting like the words are genius. They aren't genius.

"If being sad and constantly thinking about parallel universes I'd rather live in where trees have real feelings is considered complex and interesting, then fuck all who doubted me," Louis retorts dramatically and sarcastically, waving a hand around gesticulatively. 

Harry gives him another sad look like the one Zayn sends him at three in the morning or when he claims he can't force himself to get out of bed. That stupid face with the drooping brows and deep eyes and sloping frown. Louis holds back from rolling his eyes. He hates to be pitied but hates more to make people feel bad about things.

Before he knows what's happening, a long arm is wrapping around his shoulder and tugging him to the right, directly into Harry's side. Harry's hand holds tightly on the sharp bone, thumb rubbing in a circle, seemingly casual as though he can sense Louis' state of internal panic about whatever this is. Cuddle walking. A new modern phenomenon.

"We should get this tree," Harry says. He stops them after a few feet in front of a scrawnier one set off some from the rest. 

"Why?"

"Seems underrated, overlooked. We need to get it,” Harry nods.

“I thought the point was to get a nice, elegant tree or whatever the hell the expectations for those things are,” Louis says quietly from inside of the arm cocoon he’s trapped in. The place where Harry’s large hand sits is burning into his skin.

“You wouldn’t overlook a person if they were thin or sad or unpopular, would you?” It sounds like something straight from a terribly directed teen movie about bullying but coming from Harry he makes it sound like something you’d want transcribed onto your gravestone.

“No,” Louis sighs. It’s a losing battle. 

“Glad you agree that we should buy this one, then!” Harry cranes his neck to smile brightly down at Louis, squeezing his shoulder bone.

Louis tries to stubbornly avoid his gaze, not wanting to ruin the deep brooding act he’s played up, but God forbid him slightly grinning back up at Harry’s ridiculous grin. Their faces are mere inches apart but the thing is, it’s not even romantic. There’s no tension, no sexual desires slowly seeping into the air and filling in the space between them. It’s as much as a sad boy and a happy boy locking eyes as if they could take over the world one skeletal tree at a time. 

“If I’m a king, could I rule the world?”

“Yes.”

“Could someone co-rule it with me?”

“Sure.”

Louis nods and looks down at his lovely dilapidated sneakers. “Alright.”

-

Zayn and Louis have never had a Christmas tree in their flat, therefore they have nothing to decorate this new one with. So, rather than going out and buying a ton of useless colorful ornaments that only their nonjudgmental eyes will ever see, they decide to take a more crafty, cheap route.

They're on the floor of the living room with heaps of blank sheets of printer paper surrounding them. Sharpies of all colors and tips are scattered by their knees and feet, an assortment of ink markings dotting random spots on their clothes and what bare skin is showing from beneath them. 

"You seem not sad," Zayn says as Louis works on cutting out a lightning bolt made entirely of shaky lines.

Louis doesn't really respond. Instead, he shrugs and continues on, not even bothering to do so much as look up at his friend. 

"Don't ignore me, Lou," Zayn orders, throwing a sharpie cap at his face. It hits him square in the nose.

"Throwing things won't get me to spill all my dirty secrets," Louis chides. 

"I don't care," Zayn says. "Tell me why you don't look sunken in on yourself and haven't mumbled something about the monsters of the world being on the hunt for you."

Zayn knows him too well, is the thing. Over a series of years and nights of sneaking out to the rooftops of random buildings, smoking up in dirty alleys, talking in darkness inside of amateur sheet forts, and partaking in mindless strolls around the city, things have slipped. Things that are important, things that Louis forgot he even had stored in his mind or wishes he could forget in general. Zayn knows all of them, draws pictures of them in his worn sketchbooks sometimes when he finds them especially inspirational. He just gets Louis and Louis can't trace a map as to how it happened but it _did_ and here they are now, Zayn all-knowing of Louis' entire life.

"The monsters are always out for me. They're filthy little blood-sucking creatures that I can't get rid of," Louis points out as he starts on a new drawing. "That's not important though. You just want to know where I went this morning."

"Correct."

"I went to look at Christmas trees," Louis states easily.

There's a long silence where only the sounds of top trending music videos fill the air. Zayn seems to be waiting for Louis to elaborate, but he's not going to. His skinny fingers just grip the red marker tightly and scribble away at an attempt at drawing an alien waving.

"No elaboration?" Louis knows Zayn well, too.

"Nothing to elaborate on."

"Stop talking rubbish you twat, I know there's more to the story," Zayn states with no real vengeance behind it. "Did you go with that guy? That one who called you a king?"

One, two, three seconds pass slowly before Louis let's out a long huff through his nose. "Yeah.”

And as much as Louis was expecting some sort of exclamation from Zayn or teasing or laughing or more marker caps thrown at his face, the statement shows to be uneventful. Zayn just smiles at him with a near proud gleam to his eye and nods, working again on whatever it is that he’s scratching out a few feet away.

“He seems cool,” Zayn pipes up. “You deserve someone who treats you right, you know? Dating or not. Someone needs to make sure you know you're important when I'm not around to remind you."

Something in his chest tightens at the words as soon as they spill from Zayn's mouth. Louis is lost a lot of the time, hiding away from the world in his room and avoiding people in public in fear that he'll say something abnormal. Zayn's always somehow been there for him though and as much as Louis knows he's there, sometimes it skips his mind just how real their relationship is. Sometimes he needs something like this to jerk him back into miserable reality and show him that, yeah, there is definitely someone who cares about him when he can't be bothered to care about himself.

So Louis takes it upon himself now to set down the marker and crawl across the dirty wood panels to Zayn, sitting in his lap and instantly latching onto him. Louis' thin arms wrap tightly around Zayn's warm neck, and he burrows his face deep in the cinnamon scented skin at the dip where his shoulder connects to the strong neck muscles. Zayn doesn't refuse him at all, completely melts into the embrace with the knowledge of how much it means for Louis to do it in the first place. He's never the cuddler or the hugger, just the -ee end of all exchanges.

Louis feels warm and safe wrapped in Zayn's comfortable embrace. It feels like everything in the world doesn't matter at the moment. It can use all it's force to try to weigh Louis down and claw at every thought that passes throughout his brain, but right now, trapped in a cage of human love, it can just - to be blunt - fuck right off.

A minute later, Louis dislodges himself from the hold, squirming back but not leaving Zayn's bony lap completely. With a lightened mind he takes in the tiny flat, glowing in the dim lights of two lamps and some candles, joyful Christmas songs pouring from their television speakers. Outside of the windows the building across from them is lit up white and blue, a single tall, leafless tree wrapped in colorful LEDs standing proudly in front it it. It's a cozy environment, nice and sweet and protective and Louis wishes the world could be like this all the time.

He revels in the feeling of Christmastime as he watches Zayn start drawing again. Somehow Zayn works around Louis' body in his lap and Louis is grateful because he likes this front row view of their tree topper in progress and quite honestly, he just doesn't have the energy to pick himself back up. His friendly red alien can sip some tea from the steaming teacup Louis doodled while it waits for Louis to return.

"Is that us?" He asks quietly.

"Yeah," Zayn answers. He uses short, quick scribbles and strokes to fill in log, floppy hair on one of the cartoon figures' heads. "You're the king and I'm an angel."

"I like my fur cape thing," Louis grins, pointing at the picture. "It's sick."

"It is," Zayn agrees with a snort. "I don't even know what the fuck it is but I see it in movies so I was like, yeah, why not. Makes you look proper posh."

"Complete opposite of whatever the hell I look like in real life," Louis laughs. The feeling of laughing is incredible.

"You look like an average, drained uni student who couldn't care less about fashion, which is accurate. Then there's me who looks like a small-town-escapee whose unconditional lifelong dream is to obtain a useless art major."

"True. But," Louis pauses, turning his head to look at Zayn whose long hair is falling into his focused, slanted eyes that are the color of the inside of a truffle. He narrows his pale blue eyes as he examines the boy's concentrated face. "You also look like you could be a God. Zayn-eus."

"A God named Zayneus? You mean that?" Zayn asks without looking up.

"Totally." Louis nods and then rests his head on Zayn's shoulder, enjoying the feeling of the bone bumping and shifting around underneath him as Zayn continues his work.

"Thanks bro," Zayn coos. He leans his head sideways to nudge into the top of Louis', a soft nuzzle of affection. "Means a lot."

They continue working on ornaments for another two hours, during which Louis does finally force himself to push out of Zayn's lap and back over to the half-finished alien that he'd decided to name Zoot. He colored in the rest of it's body, nearly cried over Zayn's finished masterpiece, and made two cups of hot chocolate for the two of them as motivators to get the tree fully done.

Now they stand in front of the poorly lit twig of a tree, it's thin branches covered with an assortment of handmade decorations. Crudely drawn (on Louis' part) stars, aliens, penises, and cats hang at every angle. Every picture is a different size and shape and color, but somehow they all fit together better than any expensive ornament set ever could. It's a tiny, weak tree, but they've managed to turn it into something of their own that they can stare at and be proud of, enjoy completely as the only true kind of holiday decoration in their home.

"It looks nice," Louis comments in a tired, raspy tone.

"Knew it would," Zayn responds surely.

"I like the topper." Zayn stayed true to his word with it. It's just a cartoon picture drawn in unique Zayn style, fully complete with fur capes for Louis and a questionably red halo and set of wings for Zayn. The only things drawn on their skinny arms and hands are the Bus One tattoos. The story behind those is pretty messy, but it all comes down to one spectacular night in a stolen Mystery Machine replica and a few too many joints and gulps of cheap alcohol.

"Cool isn't it?" Zayn asks. Louis nods. "I'm worn out though. Fuckin' drawing doodles and cutting them out and sticking bent paperclips through them is a killer."

"Yeah. I think I'm going to bed now too. Ornament making is quite some hard work." Right on cue, a yawn escapes his mouth, shortly followed afterwards by Zayn.

"That it is, man, that it is."

"I love you, Z," Louis hums, scooting into Zayn's side and pulling him into a side cuddle.

"Always love you, fringe face," Zayn smirks as he says the nickname. It still fits Louis these days, but Zayn should realize that he can't say much anymore considering half of his own face is normally covered by layers of thick, raven hair.

They pull apart and then head to their separate rooms for the night. Louis strips off his clothes until he's just in his boxers and then throws himself under the covers, thoroughly wrapping himself in them as best as his abilities will allow. The stars above his bed are glowing dim, not having soaked up enough light during the day to last into these late night hours.

Nevertheless he looks up at them and focuses hard to count how many there are. He knows there's 27. He counts them at least three nights a week. It helps him fall asleep though, so he always repeats the ordeal, even if it doesn't help him gain any real amount of rest ninety percent of the time.

His mind soon trails off into a place of remembrance that he knows is an evil path the moment the first step is taken. Images of being with Harry earlier in the morning flood everything, tighten up the muscles in his chest and kick his heart rate up half a notch. It's terribly scary that this near stranger has such strong effects on him. There's not even a reasonable explanation as to why Harry has the ability to do such things, leading Louis to assume once again that he is, in fact, a superhero.

His disguise is baggy jumpers, his sidekick is the books that are plastered along the shelves in his shop, and his power is something yet to be determined, but Louis knows it's strong. Part of him wants to say that it's how Harry has such quick wit, a natural response to everything, but then another part is fighting to declare that his power is being able to make people feel comfortable and at ease in his presence without any difficulty whatsoever. There's proof supporting both arguments, so. Maybe they're both powers. Maybe every one of Harry's tiny personality quirks are his dazzling abilities that make him special, that make him a hero for the ages.

All of the ideas jump over each other after too long of thinking and Louis shakes his head and flips over to clear his mind once again. He closes his eyes in an inevitably failing attempt at sleep, but whispers one thing to himself beforehand.

"A glistening crown and a flowing cape, the perfect duo."

-

There are eleven days until Louis' birthday now. Less than two weeks, nearly enough to count on his skinny fingers. It's terrifying honestly.

Another year has flown by without his consent, ripping away bits and pieces of him along with it. None of his New Year’s resolutions were met, seeing as he hasn’t made any new friends, hasn’t found himself in a relationship, hasn’t bought a gym membership, and didn’t further past one lesson from Zayn in trying to gain some art credibility. His birthday is just a sad, disappointing reminder of everything he wishes he could do but can't, and the things he wishes he had done but didn't.

One of the numerous things apart from the resolutions that he can’t do is he physically cannot build up enough strength and courage to simply ask Harry for his phone number. In the last four days since they went tree shopping, Louis has visited the shop twice, both times being during regular hours because he was worried Harry would get annoyed with him sneaking in early. He tells himself he has reason for that fear, though, so still, the problem remains as to how he obtains status enough to buy him outside hours with Harry without him engaging in any physical contact first.

A true king would have someone for the job. He could just order a small French man to retrieve Harry’s number and return it to him written in wolf's blood on a piece of snakeskin paper resting on a golden platter. Sadly the best thing Louis has got is Zayn.

“I’m not scared, I just don’t want to push things and have him disappear so soon,” Louis defends weakly after Zayn calls him out.

They’re lounging in their usual positions on the ratty couch, tattered clothes hanging off their bodies, their legs intertwined underneath a new oversized, fluffy blanket that Zayn’s mother sent him as an early Christmas present. Louis nudges his toe against Zayn’s thigh in retaliation against his accusations.

“I know you don’t want him to leave, Lou, but you’ve gotta trust that he won’t,” Zayn tells him in a soft tone. “Relationships are built from a basis of trust and either way, I’m pretty fucking sure he wouldn’t be too offended if you wanted to talk outside of that shabby hole-in-the-wall shop he runs."

"Not a relationship, not a shabby shop," Louis protests. "I just need, like. I don't know. I want to get to know him but don't want to spend the time if it'll be useless in the end, you know?"

Zayn nods in understanding. "I know, but go for it."

Those words are the reason that Louis finds himself at Harry's place a few hours later. The sun is starting to sink behind the tall buildings, it's last bursts of bright light bouncing off of every surface in the city. Everything is orange and red and pink fading into black, the hues knitting a cold blanket that threatens to break through the seams of Louis' thick jacket. The darkness slowly creeping around him doesn't deter him though. He strides forwards with subtle determination, the idea of seeing Harry again fighting off against any entities threatening to slow him down. 

When he reaches the familiar door, he kicks his shoes on the welcome mat a few times and rubs his hands together quickly before walking inside. The warmth instantly soothes his chilled bones sending goose pimples all along the surface of his skin.

There doesn't seem to be anyone else in the room and Louis figures that he must've technically just closed shop. He hopes Harry doesn't mind how he uses his self-given privileges in coming into the shop before and after hours so often. Then, breaking him from his thoughts, a sound travels from behind on of the rows of shelves in the back corner, a deep, gravelly tone sailing over the notes of a familiar holiday song with ease.

"I don't care about the presents underneath the Christmas tree," Harry sings lowly. "I just want you for my own, more than you could ever know."

Louis quickly edges closer to where he determines Harry is, unraveling the grey scarf from around his neck as he does so. As soon as he finds the boy standing on a step ladder to place books on the top of the tallest shelf, Harry hits the high note and Louis stifles a laugh in his elbow at the ridiculous sound.

"All I want for Christmas is-"

"Youu," Louis finishes along with him loudly. It seems to startle Harry who whips his head around so quickly that he stumbles off the top step and falls gracelessly to the ground. He manages to somewhat catch himself with the palms of his hands but his bottom still hits the ground hard and a groan escapes his lips.

All Louis can do is stand there and cackle, the joyous sounds falling from his lips like never before. It's odd how Zayn makes him laugh of course, does some pretty idiotic things and has a reserved sense of humor, but it's never like this. And what's the most unprecedented is how it happened so quickly like a one hundred seventy nine degree drop straight down into a sense of comfort with this curly haired guy he never would've guessed he would find.

"That's my favorite Christmas song, you know," Louis tells him, still grinning slightly as Harry pulls his limbs back together and gets off the floor. "Couldn't help but sing along."

"Yeah, well, could've said something before yelling out the last word and nearly having me beheaded," Harry says. He's now facing Louis, reaching behind himself to brush dirt off his pants and fix his silk patterned shirt that's unbuttoned to the center of his chest.

Peeking out behind the fabric are dark ink blotches on his pale torso. From what he can tell, there is some type of bird on his right pec and what looks to be a _butterfly_ right above his belly button. They look intricate, delicate and important on such bold places on his smooth skin. Louis finds himself nearly drooling, enjoying the markings too much for his own good.

"You, uh-" Louis pauses to lick his lips, having lost train of his thought. He blinks harshly then looks at Harry's face, noting the knowing glint in his eye like he's been told every dirty secret of the British parliament rather than caught Louis staring at his chest. "I don't think falling from a step ladder would've had you beheaded."

"I apologize, your highness, for my lack of knowledge in Renaissance-style death doings," Harry apologizes sarcastically, bowing to an awed Louis. When he straightens out, Louis still hasn't said anything, his lips simply pulled up at the corners in a fond smile. "You like being referred to as royalty then, huh?"

It sets Louis off into his fantasy daydreaming, thoughts about having the power to place anyone who causes him any slight misfortune under the heavy blade of a guillotine. He gets caught up in thoughts too quickly sometimes.

"Yeah, I guess," Louis admits quietly, attempting to make it casual with a shrug of a shoulder.

"Why?"

One word in a declaratory sense can be taken as simple, blunt, or straightforward. It's usually nothing more than the easiest answer to an easy question. One worded questions, though, are some of the absolute hardest to answer. The questions is vague, meaning that there are so many meanings behind it, so many answers that could be used to fill the blank. Louis doesn't have any expertise in these types of questions.

"I don't know," he says automatically before even trying to think of a real response. He sort of shrinks in on himself, crosses his arms from orders sent to his brain subconsciously. "I don't know," he repeats quieter.

Luckily enough, Harry doesn't press on for an answer. He must sense that Louis isn't comfortable saying anything more personal or detailed and drops the subject, stepping closer to him with slow steps.

"Alright. So can I ask if there's any reason for you being here right now, then?" Harry asks him instead. It doesn't sound malicious like he's subtly hunting at Louis to leave, but more of a desultory movement of his tongue to loosen Louis up again.

"No reason. Zayn wasn't keeping me entertained so I decided to walk out on him and visit you," Louis replies.

"Ah, I see. I'm his understudy. But it's sort of weird that we haven't exchanged numbers yet, don't you think?" And yes, Louis definitely, one thousand percent thinks.

"Yeah it is a bit strange. It'd be a lot easier than walking here through the bloody terrible London weather every other day." He smiles and feels the nerves that were pressing on his gut suddenly fade away, leaving him lighter and looser than he ever could've been moments ago.

They swap numbers then, of course. Harry hands over a yellow iPhone and Louis passes him his Spiderman-case-covered one to match. He saves himself as Louis with a smiley face and, after watching the other boy spend an absurd amount of time with Louis' camera held in front of his overly ecstatic looking face, sees that Harry has saved himself as 'harrrrrry' with a banana emoji and already set the icon to a selfie.

Harry tries to take a picture of Louis for his own icon, but Louis persistently refuses, ducking behind bookcases and covering his face with his dainty hands. Harry sighs and eventually gives up, but threatens to take more of him later as he casually implies Louis coming up for dinner. 

"Did you say you'll take more of me during dinner?" Louis asks incredulously.

“Depends,” Harry grins, shifting his feet. “Would you _want_ to stay for dinner? I’m making whatever is in my freezer. I’d even let you choose.”

Instantly Louis’ head is wary, thinking of all the ways he could manage to ruin the night. There are so many possibilities of letting things slip from his unfiltered mouth, making a joke of himself from his terrible manners. It’s just a recipe for disaster and he doesn’t want to ruin what they’ve got before it even gets going. 

He says yes, though. Naturally.

-

Ten days is a new point of terrifying. Two hundred and forty hours, fourteen thousand and some other varied number of minutes. It’s all a countdown to the impending anniversary of his birth, the one that proves he’s yet another year older, another year closer to his death more than likely. He could die sometime before that day even comes, but no fingers are crossed. 

He wakes up sometime during the night not sure of where he is. His eyes blink open and work hard to focus in the dark of the room, searching around for clues. In a split second his memory comes into play sending him images and quotes from hours before, helping him come to the conclusion that he’s in Harry’s room.

After Louis had agreed to stay for dinner and Harry’s face lit up like Sirius, Harry rummaged through his fridge for anything decent enough to cook. Louis looked over every option carefully, nearly going for pasta or cereal, but in the end he decided that dinosaur chicken nuggets and macaroni would be best. 

Harry somehow managed to make them spectacularly, the macaroni dripping in rich cheese sauce and the chicken nuggets toasted to a perfect degree. He explained that he used to work at a bakery in his hometown of Holmes Chapel which is where he learned a bit about cooking and little universal tips to help. Louis just stared at him with interest and complimented him too many times, complaining about his incredible talent at burning everything from toast to pot noodles.

Once they finished the appetizing meal, Harry turned on _Love Actually_ , which he claimed to be his favorite movie. It was hard for Louis to process that he was cuddling under a large blanket with someone in said someone’s home while watching a romantic Christmas comedy and not lose his sanity over it being a date, but he accomplished it in the end. 

Zayn texted him halfway through the movie asking where he went, and Louis replied with a smiley face just to let Zayn know that he’s okay but still leave him hanging on the edge as to what he was really up to. Beside him, Harry was tearing up over something happening on screen, and Louis felt a sensation like the tingle of carbonation running through his veins and landing straight at his beating heart. As soon as he felt it he had to will himself to turn away from the glorious boy and focus back on the movie where he was completely lost as to what was even happening, especially on what was doing enough to make the boy next to him cry.

And then before he knew it, he must have fallen asleep, legs curled underneath him and head resting on a couch pillow. That’s what confuses him though. He was on the couch, yes, definitely, and now he’s at least ninety percent certain that he’s in a bed. He’s got no memory of walking into the room himself, but it seems more reasonable to assume that he sleepwalked rather than a story of Harry carrying him there. 

“Fuck,” he sighs, trying to bury his head back into the pillow. He never gets enough sleep to get him through the night. Each time he falls unconscious he’s awake again in a matter of three or so hours, groaning or sighing and always feeling a drop of disappointment in his chest.

What’s different about every other time and this time is that he can’t do anything now. Normally he’ll drag himself through the flat to eat cereal or watch a sea turtle documentary on mute, sometimes talk to Zayn if he accidentally makes enough noise to wake him up. Normally he has a pack of cigarettes ready for use and he’ll climb out to the fire escape to smoke and wallow in the silence of the streets below that were buzzing with life mere moments before. Here, he’s got nothing more than his mind and an empty, strange bed which isn’t his ideal set of weapons to duel nighttime with. 

Slowly he peels back the soft covers, now noticing their smell of vanilla and daisies. Socks still clutch tightly onto his feet making it easier for him to pad across the wood as softly as possible to avoid its creaking spots. The door to the bedroom is already cracked and shining a bit of light through so he walks towards it, not being able to see much in the room and not trusting the sensors in his eyes to guide the way through the new place. 

He pulls the oak door open and peers out into the open living space of the rest of the flat. The television is shut off now; a dim, orange kitchen light flickers slightly to his right, and from what he can see, there’s still a body on the couch. Carefully he moves towards the piece of furniture to examine further. It’s Harry, of course it is because who else would be there, honestly. His body is sprawled long across the surface of the cushions, his bare back gleaming in the moonlight seeping through the open windows. The blanket from earlier is thrown carelessly over his legs so that just his torso and feet hang out in the open air. 

Once he’s close enough to really get a good look at the boy, he practically stops breathing when he sees Harry’s face. His head is turned to the side, pink lips parted and letting out soft breaths while his eyes sit closed, eyelashes fanning out and creating the lightest shadows over the tops of his cheeks. His hair is mussed about with just a few strands and stray curls falling into his face and he looks beautiful. Louis hates to admit it, knows that thinking something so intense is getting too deep too fast, but God, Harry looks breathtaking. Louis just wants to run his fingertips over the slopes of his face and trace the sharp points of the shoulder blades pressing against his ivory skin, glide all the way down his spine to the dimples just above the edge of the blanket.

With one last look over, Louis swallows and starts backing up, not paying any attention to where he’s going. He’s too entranced by the body a few feet away to realize that there’s a boot laying on the floor and he clumsily trips over it, sending himself falling backwards into a wall with an _“Ah!”_. He can’t fathom how a single shoe could cause so much trouble, but apparently it’s possible and enough to wake up those who are peacefully sleeping.

Harry visibly jumps and hums as he comes to. He lifts his head up and looks over at Louis with squinted eyes and furrowed eyebrows. Before Louis gets the chance to run back into the room or downstairs and out the front door completely, Harry is saying something to him as good as he can with a still hazy brain.

“Why’re you awake?” He asks in a deep voice coated in layers of sleep and a dash of exhaustion. It’s gravelly like a path made of crumbling stones but still sweet like the daisies growing through all of the cracks.

“I-” Louis starts as he suddenly realizes that he doesn’t have an explanation. “Couldn’t sleep. Sorry.”

“Clearly,” Harry draws out as he lets out a long breath. “C’mere.”

Then he’s shifting around, grunting and groaning as he pulls his limbs back into a semi-sitting position and makes room for Louis beside him. With just a moment of hesitation, Louis saunters over, walking slowly and feeling a little self-conscious under Harry’s strong gaze. He drops down on the warm spot beside Harry’s socked toes and looks out the window at a branch swaying in the wind.

“Is this a one time thing then?" Harry prompts in his ever-so-mesmerizing gruff voice.

Louis shrugs. "Not really."

"So you have trouble sleepin' a lot?" Harry slurs. 'Trouble' sounds a lot more like 'trooble':

"Basically."

"Why?"

And there's the damned question again. The one that gets Louis' fears spinning too fast, gets his thoughts stumbling and tangled together as he tries to think of a logical answer. 

"Like I said, I don't know," Louis tries to sound annoyed but fails miserably, sounding more like he's drowning in self pity. "I just go to sleep and wake up too soon. It’s a horrible fucking routine that I’ve got no control over."

Harry clears his throat and yawns before speaking. “Is there anything you usually do? I wanna help you and whatnot, just. I don’t have much expertise in this area.”

“I smoke sometimes or eat cereal. There’s not a single specific thing that I do because honestly, nothing helps in the end anyways,” Louis laughs quietly, darkly. 

He doesn’t like talking about these things very much. It's a more personal side to him, a darker, quieter part of his life that he hates already and doesn't feel the need to expose to others. Even Zayn doesn't get to be involved in lengthy conversations about his sleep habits or Louis' thoughts about himself, and that speaks thousands of words itself.

With the look Harry's giving him, Louis feels like he's being too spread out and pulled open to be comfortable. Harry's eyes are deep seas of green boring into him with purpose, probably trying to figure out what the hell Louis is and why he has to be it.

"I have a pack of cigarettes if you need one or a few," Harry offers. "Fire escape's the ideal place to go, so if you want to, I'll put on some more clothes and grab the box from wherever it's hidden at the moment. Might smoke one myself just for the hell of it."

Louis nods slowly. "Yeah, alright. That sounds fine. And thanks for, you know... caring."

Harry smiles at him drearily but still manages it with a light radiance that brightens up the room. "You never need to thank me for that."

With that, they both push themselves off the couch and pop their limbs in near perfect unison. Louis heads straight over to Harry's room again, intelligently assuming that it's where the fire escape would be located, and lies back on the bed. He can hear Harry rummaging around drawers and coat pockets in the other room and the sounds are soothing to his scattered brain.

After a few minutes of staring blankly at the flat ceiling, Harry comes into the room and pulls a large, thick hoodie over his head and slips some slippers onto his feet, a white carton being dwarfed in the grasp of one of his large hands. He still looks as sleep rumpled as ever with squinty eyes and hair falling in one hundred different directions, but somehow the streaks of moonlight highlighting and creating shadows on his features manage to make him seem years older than he is. Louis is still star struck by the pure natural beauty of the boy and at this point he figures it's safe to assume that the feeling will never fade. Theoretically speaking, it can only get worse as time goes on and they actually get to know each other.

It's a slight struggle to raise the window from its resting place in the mold of the frame, but it's nothing that they can't defeat with a little teamwork and banging. When it's pushed up far enough to climb out of, Harry instantly clambers his way through. His long limbs have to scrunch and bend uncomfortably and Louis finds himself grinning at Harry's struggle. He follows soon after and starts shivering as soon as the frigid air outside hits him and flows through his lungs. 

There's a dusting of pale frost coating the ground below showing signs of a quick snowfall while Louis was miraculously sleeping. The platform of Harry's fire escape is barely different from his own a few blocks down. While his is black and empty with a solid floor, this one is a deep red, rusting at every corner and decorated with bright white Christmas lights strung through the bars and over the top of the railing. Of course Harry would be someone to decorate something so insignificant just for the sake of spreading holiday cheer.

Harry hands him a single white cigarette which Louis promptly places between his lips, standing still for Harry as he does the honors of lighting the end. The first drag he takes already has his muscles loosening, his wildly racing thoughts slowing down to an average speed that he's capable of controlling. 

"If you could have any superpower, what would it be?" Louis asks him before Harry gets the chance to steer a conversation somewhere Louis is trying to avoid.

There's a second of silence as Harry takes a short drag and blows the smoke back out, contemplation etched clearly onto his face. "Probably telepathy. Or time travel.”

"Why?" Louis has the right to throw the Damned Question at _him_ now.

"I'd like to see what people are thinking about sometimes," Harry says. "Not in a creepy way, just in a sense that people are intriguing and I always want to know more, especially when they try to act like there's nothing past the surface to discover. And for the time thing, I'd just want to see when the world fades to a miserable dystopia. I'd scare myself into appreciating my life today more, probably."

Louis nods in understanding. He reaches up to push back his long, wavy fringe when Harry continues.

"What would you choose then? I'm sure you've thought long and hard about it before now."

It's true. There's no denying that he's gone through every power on Wikipedia, reading through each one's pros and cons and deciding which would fit him best or be the most helpful in everyday life. Pyrokinesis would be nice in case he forgets his lighter or needs to warm up his tea, but he'd be terrified of accidentally setting innocent things on fire— especially people. Invisibility would be incredible just for the reason that he could finally live out his life as an ominous speck in the universe, undetected and avoided by all other people, but Zayn wouldn't like that because Louis could use it for pranking purposes too. He considered super strength also, but that one just wasn't him whatsoever. He's a fragile boy with no need to lift anything heavier than Zayn or bags stuffed full with unhealthy groceries.

"I'd fly," Louis answers pointedly. "I'd like to get the feeling of being free and light and look down at all my problems instead of looking up at them desperately."

"You could fly into my window and steal me away to Neverland like Peter Pan," Harry grins sleepily. 

"There's that too, I guess," Louis smirks back. There's still a question on his mind though that he needs to know the answer to before his heart seizes up and leaves him clueless and dead. "So about me falling asleep on the couch and waking up in your bed..."

"Oh, yeah, about that," Harry starts hurriedly. His fingers drum against the frozen railing creating dull thumping sounds as the seconds fade away. "You fell asleep during the movie but you looked sort of uncomfortable in that position so in the spur of the moment I decided to carry you to my bed. I figured you'd get better sleep there and whatnot, ironically enough. I hope you don't mind." 

"Wouldn't matter if I minded or not at this point would it? However, if you need reassurance, it's fine. Really. It— it means a lot that you cared enough to move me somewhere just to be more comfortable." The lights surrounding them have nothing on the joy shining inside of Louis. For once there's a sense of safeness nestled into the corners of his heart and it's something different than the kind he feels with Zayn but it's satisfying all the same and maybe even more.

"Something tells me you don't get cared for enough," Harry says beside him like he's speaking to himself, a quiet thought into the dark night.

"I do," Louis defends as he breathes out more smoke.

"Do you now?"

"Yes," Louis spits. "Zayn cares for me fine, my mum and sisters care for me.”

“Do you not have a, uh,” there’s a moment of hesitation before he finishes with what Louis had already expected, “girlfriend then?”

“No,” Louis snorts. “But I’m impatiently waiting for someone to fill the boyfriend spot.”

“Same here,” Harry smiles sadly at him before shaking his head and leaning forward onto the railing. “No one’s really interested in actually dating and staying with odd, subdued guys who run book shops. They always just want a quick fuck with me before they have to leave town again.” He spits the words like they're something to be ashamed of.

Louis doesn’t know what to say to that. He’s supposed to be the one sad here, the one shrinking away at every question and trying to get his mind off things. Harry is a light source that shouldn’t be dimmed under any circumstances by dumb problems such as boyfriends. So Louis side steps an inch closer and slowly wraps an arm around the boy’s side, pulling Harry closer while leaning his head down on his broad shoulder.

“Fuck all of them. You deserve better than that anyways.” A shiver runs down his spine when a particularly strong gust of wind blows at their red faces.

“You do too.” This time the freezing spike down his back isn’t due to the chill of the air outside. 

The space surrounding them goes mute. The cigarette held between Louis’ thin fingers has reached the end of it’s life, apparently matching Harry’s since he stubs his out on the cold metal before tossing it down. Louis repeats the action in the same careless way he does at home and watches it fall into a small mound of snow on the concrete below.

Now with free hands, Harry wraps a strong arm around Louis and rubs quickly up and down on his bicep. There’s no way of knowing if it’s an attempt to warm Louis up or a caring effort to return the favor Louis is doing by cuddling into him right now, but either way, it’s pleasant. It’s a tiny action with a large internal reaction, sending sparks of joy and security across Louis’ nervous system.

Without words, they pull apart simultaneously as if their minds are connected. Harry climbs back through the open window first while Louis trails behind, stumbling back into the warm flat in a lethargic manner. He hears the squeaking of the glass being slid down but continues to stand still in the middle of the bedroom, helplessly looking around awkwardly at the clothes scattered on the floor, not sure of what to do or where to go now. When Harry turns around, he seems to sense Louis’ uncertainty and moves towards him.

“Would sleeping in the same bed be okay with you? Obviously I can go back on the couch, but if you’re okay with it then I would-”

“I’d like that,” Louis cuts in briskly without thinking. He backtracks like his life depends on it. “I mean, that’d be alright. It is your bed after all; I should be the one getting kicked to the sofa.”

“Shut up, I’m trying to be nice,” Harry laughs. Louis raises his brows jokingly, watching Harry’s dark face crinkle in joy. “Let’s get in bed then I guess. It’s like, three in the morning or something and I need sleep. Have to keep up the fresh-faced look for the customers.”

“Whatever. You're ridiculous,” Louis grins.

They fall into bed effortlessly, shedding a few layers of clothing and then curling into the warmer layers of thick sheets. Louis settles back into the side he was on before because it seems to be used and he likes the feeling of sleeping in a place that’s got history behind it, the history being private and inappropriate or not. The smell of smoke lingers in the room but it’s more calming than it is annoying and he hopes Harry feels the same because - as much as he hates to admit it to himself - Harry being there really does seem to help.

It’s not like any kind of instant relaxation washes over him or he’s put into a sleep trance with the knowledge of the body laying beside him. It’s more of a mental thing; knowing that he’s not alone, that the threatening monsters in his mind are too scared to show themselves when there’s someone stronger than Louis to fight them off. There’s a reason he sleeps with Zayn whenever the offer is handed to him or opts to let his little sisters crawl under the covers when there’s a bad storm while he’s away visiting home. 

“Goodnight, Lou,” Harry whispers out into the shadowy room.

“Night, H,” Louis replies just as quietly. He hopes Harry can’t see the upturned corners of his lips as he drifts off into a blissful state of unconsciousness for the night.

-

A loud, gleeful cackling is the alarm Louis is snapped awake by.

As his senses come to life, he vaguely remembers the scene that played out some hours earlier with the smoking and relationship talk and eventual falling asleep with Harry in the same bed. With that thought, the first thing he fully realizes is that the space beside him is empty, just a mound of crumpled sheets and a sweatshirt laying in the place where a warm body used to be. 

He’s not much of a morning person, but he doesn’t feel like drowning in sadness under Harry’s blankets all day because it might be frowned upon to do so in other people’s own sanctuaries, so he pushes the covers off of his torso without a second doubt. The coldness hits him hard and he instantly longs to cuddle back up in the sweetly scented cotton but with a fleeting moment of adrenaline, he manages to throw his legs over the side of the bed and sit up with his still-sock-covered feet pressed against the solid ground. It doesn’t take more than one strong push to get him fully standing.

The sounds of chatter and laughing float through the crack of the bedroom door, getting louder as he nears it. When he slowly pulls it open, he winces at the creaking sound, all chances at peeking out undetected blown out of the waters. From what he can see of the living room at this angle, Harry is sat on the couch cradling a cup of something in two large hands as a guy with faded blond hair sits next to him. The guy is turned to face Harry so Louis can see his face, sees the laughter lines and blinding smile as he reacts to something Harry’s just said. A bite at his chest screams loud and clear what he feels about the situation, but he still knows he has no right to feel _jealous_ over Harry interacting with another person, let alone someone who’s probably been his friend for much longer than Harry's even known Louis’ name.

“Goodmorning, beautiful,” Harry calls out, twisting his body to smile at Louis. His hair is wet from a shower and falls messily on either side of his face.

“So this is the bloke you’ve been yappin’ about lately!” The guy says loudly before Louis can reply.

Louis slowly starts inching closer to the love seat sitting catacorner to the couch and eases down gently onto it. He watches Harry try to subtly glare at the blond as the jealousy in his stomach starts to dissipate little by little.

“His name is Louis, I’ve told you this,” Harry sighs. He then takes another long sip of what Louis can now tell is coffee before continuing. “And Louis, this is Niall. He’s an absolute dickhead and a total pain in the ass a majority of the time, but I’m happy to call him my best friend.”

Niall nods at him with a crooked smile. “Nice to meet ya, Louis. Feel like I already know you though with how much this fucker-”

“So do you want some tea or coffee?” Harry interrupts loudly, drowning out the rest of Niall’s sentence. It takes all of Louis not to snort at whatever is happening between the two of them. 

“Tea would be good, but I can get it meself,” Louis responds, yawns, and then makes to stand up before Harry is rushing to say something yet again.

“No, I’ll get it. Maybe Niall could help me,” he adds to the end, turning his head slightly to set a dead stare at his friend. Niall laughs and leans back further into the back pillows on the couch.

“Nah, I’m good mate.” The huff Harry lets out could be heard from the States.

“Alright, I’ll make the tea then,” he says exasperatedly. “Be back in a second.”

As soon as he treads off to the small kitchenette area, Niall is scooting to the other side of the couch and leaning forward onto his knees, elbows digging into the bare spots of his ripped jeans.

“Ye know he likes you, right?” It falls casually in the thick Irish accent Niall’s got but Louis can’t seem to process it.

“No. I mean, we barely know each other. I just got his number _yesterday_ ,” Louis throws in to support his argument. “You can’t just like someone after such a short span of time. That’d be ridiculous.”

Niall nods at him slightly as he fiddles with his thumbs. “Well, let me elaborate some. I’m straight, yeah, and even I can admit you’re a pretty good looking guy. Harry on the other hand actually swings that way, so I _know_ he’s got some positive opinions on you.”

“Noted,” Louis says meekly as he feels blood rush to his cheeks. “You still have to know someone personally before you can like-like them though. Because obviously anyone can like someone solely for their appearance.”

“Trust me mate, I know. What I’m trying to get at is I think he really does like-like you. You say you haven’t known each other long, and I get that, but this one keeps talking shit about soul mates and fucking red strings on your pinkies, I don’t even know. He says you two’ve got a _‘connection’_ but he doesn’t think you see it the same way.” Niall isn’t very good at explaining things, especially important things that Louis would rather prefer to be crystal clear on. With what he’s supplied though, Louis can piece together that Harry thinks they have a special connection and finds him attractive and that’s enough to get his heart racing.

"What if I did feel the same, though," Louis says like a secret. 

"Well that'd be fucking great!" Niall states loud enough for Harry, who swivels stroud at the exclamation, to hear.

"What's fucking great?" He questions with furrowed brows.

"Nothing, nothing, you nosy dick," Niall responds with a wink to Louis. He thinks maybe this could be the start to a nice, unprecedented friendship of the forces.

-

Five days to his birthday is barely nerve wracking. It's a new form of anxiety where he's not quite excited about the day or the following Christmas, but he's not dreading it as much as he was either. It seems like maybe as time goes on he learns to accept the act that he's going to age, he's going to drown himself in corner shop wine with Zayn, and the day will pass uneventfully unlike his expectations that have been haunting him the past weeks.

This sense of indifference inevitably leads to the succumbing of Louis to the typical pitiful laziness and lack of motivation he seems to always fall back on. Today is a day where he wakes up, looks at the fake stars, and decides that he isn't ready to face the world. Sometimes it's for real reason like sickness or injury, but most times, including this, are simply because he sees no point. There just isn't anything out there he cares about enough to drag himself from beneath the sheets.

So he curls up and lays down for hours on end, mindlessly humming melodies and playing on his phone or sketching invisible pictures over the tattoos on his forearm. Every now and then he glances outside and catches sight of thick snowflakes floating past the glass and occasionally catching on it. It's only when Zayn barges into his room with a bag hanging off his shoulder and a concerned, panicked look on his face that he's snapped from his lifeless trance.

"I thought you'd been packing," Zayn says, eyeing Louis in his huddled form. "We're supposed to be leaving at ten, remember?"

“Shit,” Louis sighs. “Fucking shit.”

He can’t believe he forgot about their day trip back home for the holidays. They’ve been planning it for weeks, set the date and time and saved money up and Louis forgot about it. He let his doltish sorrow take place over visiting his family which is about as ridiculous as one can get.

“Yeah, fucking shit,” Zayn repeats. He crosses his arms in the dark brown peacoat and looks at Louis expectantly. “Get up then. You need to be ready to go in thirty minutes or less or I’m leaving without you.”

“Can’t you cut me slack when I’m having one of Those Days?” Louis argues, all the while stumbling out of bed and grabbing his duffel bag from the floor.

"Not when my mum's homemade cooking and Christmas presents are on the line," Zayn smiles then turns back to the hallway, shutting the door behind him.

Louis makes quick work of throwing random clothes into his bag, throwing more onto his body, and making himself look presentable, respectively in that order. He ends up in joggers and a Spiderman jumper that Lottie got him years ago, hair pushed back with a headband and then hidden under a maroon beanie. Normally he let's some fringe hang out on his forehead because it looks much nicer, but without time to shower he has to make slight adjustments to his regular appearance routine.

When he's sure he's got everything ready including the presents for his family gathered in another large bag, he walks out to the living room and announces so loudly. Zayn turns around from where he's watching tv on the couch to look at Louis, eyeing him up and down carefully in a state-of-the-art visual checklist inspection. Louis seems to pass it by the skin of his teeth as he watches Zayn's lip curl and eyebrows knit. After a minute Zayn gets up and grabs his keys from beside the front door and then pulls it open with a hand gesturing for Louis to follow.

They head downstairs and pile everything in the back of Louis' beat up Audi coupe he got for his sixteenth birthday. It all fits well enough for Louis to lean the passenger seat back and kick his feet up on the dashboard while Zayn sets them off down the busy streets of London.

"So are we doing this your car, your music or I'm the driver, so my music?" Zayn asks him once they're a few minutes out with terrible pop radio blasting through the speakers.

"You can pick the music. I'll probably just sleep the whole way anyways," Louis says languidly.

"You better not leave me alone on this drive you ass," Zayn warns with no menace behind his tone. "Three hours is a long time to be lonely. I'll need your annoyance and mindless talk about fairies to pull me through"

Louis scoffs. "I _never_ talk about fairies."

"Werewolves and aliens then," Zayn corrects. "Now if you plan on being useless the rest of the ride, at least do something worthwhile right now and plug my phone up to the speakers. Just press shuffle on my music."

Louis hums in acknowledgment and reaches out for Zayn's phone, still reclined back further than normal in his seat. He smiles at Zayn's lockscreen that's a candid of the two of them laughing and sitting on the edge of a brick wall, a shot taken by one of their mutual friends Aiden. He doesn't remember at all what they were talking about considering it was months ago while they were high and probably more than a lot drunk, but the feeling he gets from seeing the captured moment makes up or the lost memory.

Of course, the sentimental picture doesn't stop Louis from being interested by the little red circle with the number one in it sitting in the upper right corner of his messaging app. As discreetly as possible, Louis clicks the icon, waiting impatiently as it opens to a chat screen. The name at the top makes Louis nearly scream, having to bite down on his tongue to keep from doing so.

The conversation is with _Liam,_ the cashier from the grocery store that Zayn continuously whines to Louis about. Louis knows what he looks like only because the few times he goes up there he scanned every worker for a name tag that read Liam, but he's never talked to him past casual check-out chatter and he figured Zayn was the same. Apparently he was wrong because here's proof in his hands that Zayn isn't as shy as Louis likes to think he is and is also very good at hiding things from Louis.

As he scrolls through the messages he sees some things about family and friends and favorite tv shows, nothing more and nothing less than what he was expecting. Liam's most recent message is asking Zayn how the car trip with Louis is going and how they both are doing which makes Louis internally nod with approval. Anyone who bothers to ask how Louis is doing while talking with Zayn is good enough for him.

He finally decides to actually put on music then, clicking shuffle and watching as The Weeknd starts playing. Zayn nods his head along to the music as soon as it starts and Louis props his chair back up, fully ready to ruin Zayn's vibe now that he's had his whole bad-day-leave-me-alone vibe crushed. 

"So how is Liam doing?" Louis asks casually, picking a loose thread on his sweats.

"I don't know, he's probably fine," Zayn returns quickly, twisting his fingers on the steering wheel. "Why do you ask?"

"Oh, just figured since he texted you asking how we were doing on the road trip so far that I'd check on him too," Louis presses on with as much of a devilish grin as he can manage. It turns out as more of a sad smile with sparkling, mischievous eyes.

"I knew I shouldn't have trusted you with my phone," Zayn replies indifferently as if Louis' snooping doesn't bother him more than a crick in his neck. "Shouldn't you be sleeping or something? I thought you were having one of Those Days."

He sees Zayn's blunt attempt at changing the subject but rather than insisting they stay on the topic, Louis shrugs and goes with it. 

"I am and I'd like to be in bed as I live it out, but that's ruined now," Louis sighs, looking out the window as the tight, busy streets turn into one endless motorway. "I don't like road trips. They give me too much time to think."

"Talk to me then. Would that help?" Zayn offers cautiously. Louis wishes he could hug him two thousand times to make up for all of his efforts at bringing and maintaining Louis' happiness even if it's only temporary.

"Nah, I'm too—" He pauses, trying to pull the proper word out but it doesn't come quick enough. "I don't know. I just don't feel like physically talking, you know? Like, I love you bro, and it means a lot that you want to chat me out of this state, but I think I'll just text Harry or something. You can't tell how much I'm struggling to find words through a message."

"Alright, bro. Glad you've got it figured out," Zayn says, no more and no less. What Louis gets from the words though is a hidden _"Glad you've got someone other than me to help you now."_ and he reaches over and rubs his thumb over the pointy bone in Zayn's shoulder for a second as a silent _"I know. Me too."_

Louis reclines his seat back and drops his feet down to curl himself into a ball. He pulls the hood of his sweatshirt over his head to block out a bit of the dim grey light that's seeping through the thick rain clouds. His phone is in front of his face within seconds, the screen too bright for his eyes until he quickly turns it down to a lower setting.

**_road trips are terrible_ **

Harry must be up and already manning the shop as he replies almost instantaneously. In his head, Louis gives him a slow clap for his quickness.

_Ooooo :( where are you going?_

**_home for the day_ **

_Well that's a good thing isn't it?_

**_yeeaahh . just feel like absolute shit today :(_ **

_No one should be sad this close to Christmas.. Do you want to talk?_

He wants to talk. Really, he does. But there’s a force stopping him from admitting it, telling him not to get into a deep conversation over text when he can’t even explain what he’s feeling anyways. 

**_not really………. but maybe you could send me a picture to cheer me up_ **

Once he sends this message, the reply takes a bit longer to come through. He takes a moment to look at the scenery around them. It’s all fields of animals and dead daisies and nothing of interest to Louis. Zayn is drumming his fingers on the steering wheel to the beat of a slower acoustic song, something that wouldn’t be expected if you were to scroll through Zayn’s music library.

“Lou, look at that car,” Zayn snorts, pointing a thin finger at a car in the lane beside them. It’s a small vehicle, a sporty, expensive little thing that clearly doesn’t have a lot of space inside seeing as there’s a full wooden bench tied to the back of it. “Think it was a Christmas present from their Nan?”

“Yeah,” Louis nods, staring in amusement at the sight. “Grandparents probably overheard them whining about not having enough surfaces to fuck on. Some old folks have got good humor like that.”

“They have humor, yes, but Christ, they aren’t all as dirty minded as you. We need to hose your head out.”

“That would be nice, actually,” Louis replies with a nod, giving Zayn a look of approval.

The other boy just rolls his eyes and continues his precise finger drumming while rolling his shoulders back. Louis curls back into his cocoon, clicking his phone to life to check if he’s got any new messages. There’s one from his mum asking how far they are which he replies with a sweet message and a blind estimate as to how much longer it’ll take. Below that, though, sits another text from one of his few entertainment sources for this journey.

_How about a selfie with Niall while he’s mid sneeze? Would that work?_ _*image attached*_

**_:)_ **

_-_

Being home is like a breath of fresh air, as cliché of a metaphor as that is. Just the environment and the familiar scenery of places he’s come to know by heart over the years help to soften his harsh mood, bring him to a happier state of being. His family, of course, only amplifies the goodness.

As soon as he steps foot into his home, reveling in the scent of vanilla and cinnamon due to the Winfrey candles, two small figures are rocketing towards him, wrapping around his waist and hugging him as if he’s just come home from war. 

"Louis, I missed you!"

"Louis, did you bring us presents from London?"

"Oh my gosh, your hair is _so_ long! It looks so pretty!"

He squeezes his two younger sisters tightly, their duplicate smiles shining up at him. "I missed you both too, I did bring presents, and thank you for your kind words. Mind letting go of me now so I can say hello to your mum?"

"She's your mum too, you know." He looks up to see his eldest sister, Lottie, leaning against a door frame and grinning in a way that Louis recognizes looks much like himself.

"Details, details," he waves off before giving her a quick hug and not forgetting the quiet shadow of his middle sister, Felicite, lingering right around the corner.

He walks towards the kitchen to find his mother, leaving Zayn to catch up with his sisters for a bit before he eventually makes his way to see his own mother. Unsurprisingly, both of the women are sitting at the dining room table caught up in a lovely chat, their bright smiles peeking from behind the lipstick-stained rims of their cups of tea.

"Louis!" Johannah exclaims, immediately standing up and rushing to meet him in the middle of the space. "My baby first born is back, what a wonderful day." Louis cringes at the nickname - albeit in the most loving way possible - but hugs her tightly, breathing in the easily recognizable sweet perfume she saves for special occasions. He remembers her wearing it on her wedding day just five months ago.

"Hi, mum. I missed you," he tells her when they separate. She leads him over to the table, pulling out the wood seat beside her in which he plops down gracelessly.

"Well I would sure hope so," she laughs. 

It's been too long since he's been home. His breaks he gets in uni are reasonable, but each time they roll around, he chooses to sleep in and do nothing for the time rather than taking a trip back home. It's a sad thing to admit, but the longer he's in school, the less motivation he has to do much, including making the trip up to Doncaster to visit the people he loves more than he ever could anyone else. Priorities change when you're actually working towards taking a responsible part in society.

They pick up into a chat about how life is going in the city and how he thinks he did on his finals. He knows he probably bombed at least two of them, but for the sake of the holiday and the fragile makeup of his mother's heart, he spares her the dirty details and tells a white lie about knowing he aced every last one of them. Zayn's mother, Trisha, joins in the conversation only once her son makes himself present alongside her, wrapping her in his arms from behind just as she sets down her cup. 

It lasts for about an hour, lots of words being exchanged as though they don't call home or Skype every other day. The occasional sibling flits through the kitchen or pops in just to give an update or ask a question about the babies, Ernest and Doris. After the last time Lottie comes in to complain that Doris just threw a plastic ring at her head, Louis pushes himself up, figuring he should greet them too. He hasn't gotten the chance to see them much as he's been in school for most of their lives. The only lengthy amount of time he got to spend with them was summer break, but they were somehow much younger then than they are now and two months just wasn't enough to fulfill his brotherly duties. 

They're sitting up on a large, knit blanket in the middle of the living room; two lumps dressed in candy cane onesies chewing on brightly colored number blocks. The fireplace is burning beside the glowing Christmas tree in the corner and the sound of laughter and cooing fills the air. Louis makes himself at home, sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of them. He picks both up for a minute or so and gives them too many quick kisses to count. Zayn just sits on the couch and not-so-secretly takes pictures of Louis smiling fondly at the small babies, spitting out never-ending teasing words about how sickeningly adorable the scene is.

By the time dinner rolls around, Zayn has gone home with his mum to have a meal with his family, leaving the Tomlinson household with a very loud, extravagant goodbye followed by a laughing yet apologetic Trisha. Louis steals the spot at the head of the dinner table, surrounded by his mum on one side and Lottie on the other. There had been a big fuss over whether Daisy or Phoebe got to sit next to him, and in the end it was decided that neither of them would, but they would have first dibs on cuddling him for the gift exchange later. The meal of choice for the night is chicken alfredo with a side of macaroni because everyone, including Louis’ stepdad, was insistent upon it. Johannah tried to reason that it makes no sense to have pasta along with another dish of pasta, but she eventually gave in when Fizzy offered to cook it for her. 

“So, Louis, have you got a boyfriend yet? Had any dirty hookups in trendy London clubs?” Lottie asks, waggling her eyebrows and smirking.

“Charlotte Tomlinson! Your younger sisters are right beside you,” Jay scolds, giving her a harsh stare. Louis snorts and tries to cover it with the back of his hand, but he gets caught too and get’s presented with a threatening glare of his own.

“Sorry mum,” Lottie apologizes. She twirls her pasta around with her fork and turns back to Louis. “Any boyfriends then? Gone on any picnics or strolls through the park?”

Louis finds himself smiling at her sarcasm but shakes his head. “No, not really.” Of course, he says this but can’t help thinking of Harry. They aren’t together, haven’t dated at all, and for all Louis knows, they never will, but there’s something there. They’ve got a sort of friendship that straddles the border between friendly and flirty and Louis thinks he can already tell which side it’s going to fall on when the younger boy pops into his mind when asked about relationships.

“Well what does _‘not really’_ mean then? You’ve got to elaborate, Lou,” Fizzy chimes in with a mouthful of garlic bread. 

“Yeah, elaborate, Lou!” Phoebe tells him. He senses that she doesn’t really get what the word means, but he listens to the order anyways. Reluctantly.

“I mean, I haven’t had a real relationship occur in the two months since I’ve last seen you,” he tells them, staring down at his plate. He can sense all of their eyes on him and as much as he loves to be the center of attention sometimes, right now he wishes they would drop the subject and speak of things that don’t relate to his personal life. “But- well. I don’t know. There _is_ a guy I guess, we just aren’t technically _dating_.”

“What’s his name then?” To Louis’ surprise, it’s Jay who prompts the question.

“Harry,” he responds quietly. Quickly, he stuffs a chunk of chicken and a few noodles into his mouth, hoping that it buys him at least a few seconds before they all continue the interrogation of his love life.

“And last?” Lottie asks him with raised brows. 

“Why do you need to know his last name?”

“No reason, just curious,” she smiles suspiciously, fanning her lashes just a bit too much.

Louis doesn’t bother thinking further into what her ulterior motives could be. “It’s Styles.”

“Harry Styles sounds like a prince’s name,” Daisy says, her twin nodding in agreement. “I like him already."

The mention of Harry being a prince has Louis’ mind wandering off to how Harry always calls him a king. He can’t help the unconscious upturn of his lips in the slightest of degrees. When he realizes that it’s happened, though, he immediately clears his throat and chews another bite of the delicious meal in front of him, opting to seem as casual as possible when Harry is the topic of everyone’s interest, including his own.

The conversations flows in another direction then as Jay asks Dan about some assignment he got at work and Louis lets out a silent breath of relief. He busies himself with eating more and laughing at the ridiculous argument his youngest sisters get into over whether Zayn should braid his hair or wear it in a bun. The babies are going at each other too, caught up in a conversation that no one else can understand.

“Oh my _god_ , Louis, Harry is right fit!” Lottie exclaims, staring down at her phone screen. Ah, yes. He should’ve known that’s what the great plan was.

“Why are you stalking his Instagram?” He asks without needing proper confirmation. The statement comes out more like a pitiful whine.

“We aren’t _stalking_ , just casually browsing.” Felicite offers as if that changes the situation. “He is good looking, though. It’s not fair. Why do _you_ get him and not me?”

“Because one, he’s much too old for you and two, he’s not even interested in your gender. I think,” he tacks on at the end, thinking if Harry’s ever clarified that preference or not. 

He expects some witty or defensive response from either of them at that, but it doesn’t come. Instead there’s a quiet gasp and some whispers that are just barely drowned out by the talking of the rest of his family. His eyes glance over at the teens curiously, trying to see what they’re being so secretive about all of a sudden but can’t see much of anything on the screen.

“Hey, Lou,” Lottie starts. She raises the phone and turns it around, holding it out in front of Louis. “Have you seen this?”

There were lots of things he was expecting. Maybe an embarrassing picture of Harry he accidentally skipped over when he did his first initial stalking of Harry’s account. A comment, even, on an old picture of something ridiculous the boy said years ago. What he’s met with, though, instantly makes his stomach flip and his heartrate speed up in a way that’s not the effect of something good.

It’s a picture. In the image  ―  posted by some guy named ‘Grimmy’ according to his username  ― is Harry. The part that has him free-falling off a cliff into a pit of sorrow and agony is the fact that there’s another guy in the shot too (probably the same one whose account it’s uploaded to), lips pressed against Harry’s, each of them seeming to smile into each other’s mouths. It looks like it was taken in some dimly lit nightclub if the blurry lights in the background are anything to go by. What hits the most is that it was posted two days ago, not weeks or months or years. Just a simple forty eight hours in which he's been thinking of Harry and what Niall said nonstop.

Louis makes a mental note not to trust anything Niall tells him from now on out.

“Oh,” Louis says dumbly, shaking his head for clarification. He reads over the caption that says _‘fun night with the one and only @harrystyles! his lips tasted a bit like a cheap cocktail.... loved it.’_  “No. I, uh, hadn’t seen that.”

Lottie pulls the phone away from him and drops it down onto the table, biting off some bread and looking guiltily at Louis. “I’m sorry,” she says when she swallows. “Did you not know at all then?”

“No. I don’t even know who that guy is.”

“Oh,” Lottie draws out. “I didn’t, like, show you something I wasn’t supposed to did I? Did you know Harry was-”

“No,” Louis repeats. He’s only said it twice now but the term is already getting sore on his tongue, bruising it. “You’re fine but I didn’t know about the guy. Harry’s not as single as I thought I guess.” He tries to laugh it off but the smile he manages _feels_ fake so he figures it’s not doing much to fool the rest of the people around him. 

Dinner passes slowly after that. Every bite takes a mass amount of effort and actually swallowing the food is even greater. He hates that seeing just one photo can impact him so much, drag his mood from his radiant high to a miserable low, but he figures that’s just what happens when you like someone that you know deep down that you can never have. 

Finally, they all finish eating and he helps clear the table, loading the dishwasher and placing any leftovers up in the fridge. His mum eyes him and gently presses the question of what’s wrong with him, trying to get him to respond without pushing too far. He brushes her off with smiles and assures her that it’s nothing, he’s just a bit tired from the drive. The lie falls roughly off his tongue and he can tell that she can see through it, but luckily it’s enough to set her and the others at bay.

He takes a quick shower then steals a minute or two to rest and change into his pajamas before they start swapping presents. When he pushes open the door to his old room, he can’t let the weight in his gut keep him from feeling safe and comfortable in the familiar space. His old football trophies still line the walls on shelves he built himself, posters of bands he liked when he was fifteen are still at least half plastered up, and the large bed that takes up a good seventy percent of his room is covered in a Spiderman sheet set he’s sure he’s had since he was in primary school. It all brings back fond memories of his childhood and he feels at peace for a short bit as he drops the fluffy white towel and pulls on plaid pajama bottoms and an old loose shirt of Zayn’s.

His phone buzzes just as he starts trekking back down the stairs and when he glances at the screen, he’s not the slightest bit surprised to see Harry’s name in white letters.

_Lottie Tommo just followed me on IG…… Anyone you know? ;)_

Against every fiber in his body telling him not to laugh because he’s supposed to be moping and sad still over Harry already having someone to hold his heart, he laughs. It’s quiet, small, barely a decent snort, but it’s something.

**_hmmm may be a long lost cousin_ **

_If only her last picture wasn’t a photo of you and her captioned ‘soo happy the big bro is home! @louist91’..._

**_alright you’ve got me , she’s my sister . you’re like a fucking detective!!!!!_ **

“What are you smiling about then?” Dan asks 

“Nothing,” Louis replies without even looking up. Talking to Harry has a terrible effect on him. Louis becomes entranced with whatever conversation they’re having and blocks out everything else, like nothing but the blue chat bubbles in his palm mean anything in the world. 

He maneuvers over to the couch and folds himself right in the center, sinking into the cushions and immediately being pounded on both sides by the twins. There’s laughing and chattering and fingers poking at his cheeks as he gets more and more absorbed in what him and Harry are going on about and for a while, he lets himself forget that someone else is after Harry’s heart and he’s got no chance in hell of capturing it first.

-

Louis leaves the next morning with bags over his shoulders full of blankets, stuffed animals, fuzzy socks, a customized Yorkshire Tea mug, and a giftcard to Topman. The gift exchange last night had gone extremely well to say the least. He hadn’t been able to think of anything to tell anyone that he wanted, but their guesses were spot on. Every present he opened had his eyes squinting and the corners crinkling like bed sheets in the morning.

In return, every present that he got for all of them seemed to be good enough. The expensive makeup kit he got for Lottie earned him a smudge of lipstick on his cheek, the sewing machine he got for Fizzy had her squealing with excitement, and Daisy and Phoebe tackled him when they opened their new pink Ugg boots. Jay and Dan got matching fluffy white robes, much to the woman’s enjoyment but no so much to his step father’s.

Now, eight in the morning on a Sunday is the last time that Louis would ever want to be awake at. The same goes for Zayn, maybe even more so. Luckily enough for him, though, once Louis says goodbye to his mother and sisters in a flurry of sloppy kisses and tired, tight hugs that last for full minutes, he hops in the car and drives over to Zayn’s to pick him up for the ride. Since Zayn drove last time, it was agreed that Louis would dejectedly take the shift this time.

He pulls up to the curb of the familiar Malik home where Zayn is already standing, bundled in a hoodie and a thick plaid scarf, eyes half closed and hair falling long and wavy around his face. In his arms he holds a feather pillow and a few gift bags with presents of his own that Louis will ask him about once they’re both more alert to the world moving around them.

“Morning, Z,” Louis says with a raspy voice as Zayn throws his stuff in the back then buckles himself into the front seat.

“Mm, Lou,” Zayn offers as a response. “Why does it have to be so fucking cloudy every day? What’s wrong with this country?”

“Impending apocalypse.” Louis starts down the street and Zayn nods in agreement at his answer.

There’s relative silence between them for a while after that apart from the stereo playing a shuffle of Louis’ songs. It seems that Zayn has already fallen asleep by the time they drive out of city limits and Louis already needs attention. Being alone is perfectly fine when he’s locked somewhere by himself, but sitting in close quarters with a human being who’s asleep while he himself is supposed to be awake for the whole drive is more difficult. He can’t handle being alone when it’s not in it’s truest form. 

His patience runs thin after the first hour of humming along to random songs on iTunes radio. Zayn obviously isn’t going to be waking up anytime soon, and there’s still another two and a half hours left until they get back to their home. In a moment of weakness and without thinking at all, Louis rips his phone from the cord and dials the first number he sees when the screen unlocks.

It takes a few rings before the person picks up. “‘Elloh?”

"Good morning, H," Louis says. "Sorry to wake you, I'm just in the car again and I've got no one to talk to."

"Zayn?"

"Out cold," Louis tuts, loosening his single-handed grip on the steering wheel. There aren't many cars on the roads at the moment, what with it being early on a weekend day with large grey clouds threateningly drifting overhead.

"Mh," Harry offers intelligently. He sighs and Louis can hear the ruffling sound of sheets moving like Harry has flipped over or sat up. "So how can I be of assistance?" The words come out slow and slurred because Harry's mind is having trouble catching up to his mouth and Louis can't help but smile in empathy.

"Just make conversation. Ask me questions or tell me an interesting story, I don't care as long as you keep me awake."

Harry groans and doesn't say anything. Then, suddenly he says a little _'Ah!'_  and there's more faint shuffling on the other end of the line. 

"I have this book of questions," Harry starts, "and they're supposed to make you, like, think and everything. I've never really read it before. It just sits beside my bed collecting dust."

"Well now's a good time to make some use of it then," Louis returns. 

"Alright, pick a number one through two forty five," Harry orders. He yawns while Louis thinks of a response, then announces that he's flipping to the corresponding page when Louis answers one thirty two. "Can emptiness be experienced? Hm, that's deep."

"Yeah, and it can," Louis says surely.

"How?" Harry asks and Louis doesn't know if the book prompts for an explanation or if Harry is just genuinely curious. For some reason, the latter option makes him feel a dash of importance, knowing that someone possibly cares about his thoughts on things like this.

"Well. Emptiness is sort of just when your head is blank, innit? So if you've had a really bad day and just shut everything out and stare at a ceiling without focusing on what's got your gut all twisted up, it's basically like you're empty. So in turn, I guess that would mean you experience emptiness." Louis' eyebrows unscrunch after he gets all the words out, having had to think hard on how to get his thoughts together.

"That's- wow. I would've just said yes because emptiness is like sadness. You've got a way with words," Harry compliments lazily. It sounds genuine still though. Louis knows the lazy sound of the statement is just from the poor boy's exhaustion. 

"Just have experience to back my idea is all." It comes out sounding sadder than it should and Louis rushes to change the subject. "How about page one eighteen?"

Harry clears his throat before reading as Louis shifts uncomfortably in his seat and eyes the lack of interesting scenery around the car. "What is love?"

The question sets Louis off kilter. He was hoping for something asking if humans are the only ones in the universe or maybe about if certain events are fate or luck. Love, though. That's a subject Louis doesn't like to delve into. He hasn't got any real experience with it apart from the obvious adoration he has for his family, but it's something he longs for. He dreams of knowing what it's like to love someone as more than a friend, as more than a sibling or a parent. He wants to know what true love feels like and since he's yet to find it as of now, no, he's not got a single idea about what love _is_.

"I guess it's just, like, when you-" Louis cuts himself off with a frustrated huff, his fingers tightening on the leather and his lips pursing. "I've got no fucking clue."

"Oh," Harry peeps, probably taken aback by Louis' sudden change in tone. "Well. Uh. _I_ think love is when you see something for what it truly is and take it with it's flaws, all the while still noting that they're there. It's when you give up the truest, full version of yourself for a person or thing or idea and just don't hold back. You unconsciously let yourself fall hard for this one thing, only stopping to realize what's happened when you're too far in. And, um, I guess love is also that, like, tightening feeling in your chest. The one that makes your heart beat an extra time per second and numbs out all your other senses, whether it be good for you or bad." Harry stops then and even if Louis wanted to insert a quote, his tongue is too dry to do so. "Sorry, that all sounded a bit ridiculous. I'm not very good with words and I'm still very much asleep."

"No, no, Harry, that was incredible, really," Louis quickly insists. "You sounded passionate. Have you.. have you ever experienced love, then? Apart from your mum?"

The cage clenching tighter around his heart is undeniable. Louis can physically feel it and nearly reaches a hand up to his chest to soothe it out. It's just that— there's this thought, in the very back of his scattered mind, that's locked onto something it shouldn't. There's one microscopic printed sheet filed in the danger zone of his brain that is trying to send signals to Louis about why Harry's words are affecting him so much, but Louis stuffs it back into it's respected drawer and locks it with a key. He can't have a conversation with Harry about love when he himself is- no. No, no, no. Damned brain.

"Not really," Harry states a bit sadly. "I mean, there've been a few times with past boyfriends and whatnot, but I think they were all just faux."

"Oh," Louis says dumbly.

"I think—," Harry yawns again, "I think maybe I've felt it coming on recently though. I'm not sure, but there's something, you know?" 

That's Louis' cue to throw his phone out of the window and shrink in on himself again. Harry's talking about the guy Louis saw on Instagram; it's obvious. Who else has he been close enough to recently to have any sort of feelings of _love_ for? 

It's not fair. Louis just wants to talk to someone who is on the same page as him or at least someone he can talk to about being in love without feeling like a bird with it's wing caught under a stone whenever the other person talks about their feelings. He can't help that he has a strong attraction towards Harry, though, and he can't back out of the conversation now that he's dragged himself into it. So he sucks it up and braces himself for words that could hit hard on his coat of armor.

"That's- good," Louis says awkwardly. He hopes the slight disappointment in his voice can't be distinguished through the phone.

"Ah," Harry starts, "But it's never a good thing if it's not requited. It's no fun just sitting and waiting for a confirmation whether the person thinks one thing or another."

"Well, I'm sure it'll turn in your favor. You're a great guy, H, anyone would honestly be right insane to turn you down." The words spilled out with no control, his feelings towards Harry not being able to be contained, albeit in disguise.

When did he even admit to himself that he _had_ feelings towards Harry? He thought it would be a sort of life changing moment where he wholly accepted that he would lovingly take Harry to call his own, but no. It’s just been a natural process of acceptance leading to this point where he can freely talk about it without even realizing what’s being said.

“What a sappy thing to say,” Harry laughs deeply.

“Fuck off,” Louis grins, shaking his head. 

“Happily,” Harry says and if it were possible, Louis would say he can hear Harry’s dimple through the line. “So when do you get back here then?”

Louis hums and thinks for a moment, calculating the distance in his head. “Probably another hour and a half to two hours depending on traffic and if we make any stops. Considering Z is still dead beside me though, I don’t think going out for breakfast is a plan in my book.”

“Well, um, do you think you’d want to go with me when you get back? To breakfast?” Harry asks timidly. He clears his throat. “This little place that Niall works at makes the _best_ french toast. Like, they put the powdered sugar and strawberries and the whole shabang.”

Louis would be stunned to silence at this offer if only he didn't know that it wouldn’t mean anything. It wouldn’t be a date. Because Harry’s got someone and even if they aren’t together yet, Louis isn’t going to compete. He’s just going to build a nice, platonic friendship with Harry and let him date whoever he wants as freely as he wants until eventually Louis’ heart strings aren’t tugged every time he so much as gets a text message from Harry. 

“How could I resist _‘the whole shabang’_?” Louis chuckles, flicking his hair out of his eyes and rolling his shoulder that’s holding the phone. It isn’t a comfortable position and takes a lot of stamina to keep up to his ear even with Louis’ tragically toned biceps.

“I don’t think anyone could.”

“Someone with more willpower than me maybe,” Louis tells him. “I’ve got as much as a kid in a candy shop.”

“Tell me about no willpower when _you_ consistently buy scarves for ten quid just because they have a nice display by the check out counter,” Harry challenges with a short huff of a laugh.

“I’ll be sure to when that happens,” Louis replies. There’s no way in hell that he would ever consider buying or especially wearing a scarf. Headbands are something he finally started using once he got past his petty hatred for how they made his hair stick up odd, but scarves on his head like he’s seen Harry wear would be pushing it. “Now, are you going to text me the address so we can meet there or—?”

“Yeah!” Harry answers too quickly and with far too much enthusiasm. “I mean, yeah. I’ll text it to you. And I’ll let you get back to driving now. I’d prefer if you didn’t get into a car accident before our breakfast date.”

And there’s the word. The dreaded word with too much of an ambiguous meaning. Against the larger portion of his head screaming that Harry meant it as simply as the word itself states, Louis forces himself to believe that he just misphrased it. They’re going out for breakfast as friends and it’s certainly not a date. Dates are for lovers, couples meeting at movie theaters and jazz clubs to drink fine wine and dance and- _Pull it together_ , he scolds, shaking his head with a scowl.

“If that happened I would still crawl from the hospital and have you feed me french toast when I drag myself through the door of the restaurant.”

“Christ, Louis,” Harry breaks off into amused snickers. “Drive. Get off the phone and drive.”

“That’s a Rihanna song, innit?” Louis questions.

“That’s ‘Shut Up and Drive’, actually,” Harry corrects matter-of-factly.

“Oh well look at you mister music mongol,” Louis drawls sarcastically. He hasn’t got time to be corrected for the titles of songs that are already terrible to begin with. 

Suddenly there’s a third, raspy voice thrown into the conversation. “Mongol? Did you just call ‘im a music mongol?”

“Shit,” Louis hisses through gritted teeth. He looks over to find Zayn grinning at him with squinted eyes and an arm thrown precariously over his head. “I knew as soon as I said it-”

“Mongol, muggle, mogul, I’m good with any of those,” Harry interrupts firmly in his ear. 

“Mm, yes, you would be,” Louis nods, Zayn looking at him with an eyebrow raised now. Louis mouths _‘It’s Harry’_ and Zayn mouths back _‘Obviously’_ before covering his liquor stained eyes with his tattooed hand and dragging it down his face. “I guess I’ll let you go now, then. Thanks for talking to me. It helped a lot and meant a lot too. That you would care enough to wake up and make thoughtful responses, I mean.”

“I care about you, Lou. You don’t really need to thank me for having common courtesy to someone who obviously needs help, whether it be a problem as small as a lack of attention or not.” The way Harry says it makes Louis feel a slight flutter in his stomach. It’s like the words are seeping through the speaker and making themselves at home inside of Louis, pleasantly sipping on lemonade, fully aware of their effect on him. He hates it.

“I don’t deserve the special attention though, so I’m going to thank you anyways,” Louis clarifies, his voice dropping lower than before. 

Harry stays silent, only his quiet breaths being picked up and beside Louis in the car, Zayn is doing nothing more than alternating between staring at Louis and the passing cars. The seconds become palpable before Harry let’s out a deep sigh. “Alright, Louis. You’re welcome then. Have a safe trip home.” Rather than insisting that Louis believes he cares about him like he usually does, this time Harry seems to give up. It's what Louis had been asking for but now that it's happened, he's not sure it's right.

“I will.” It comes out weak.

“Bye,” Harry emits, his tone staying strong. 

“Bye,” and Louis almost tacks on a nickname, but he doesn’t, feeling that he’s ruined the moment too far already. There’s no need for added confusion.

Then, there’s a quiet click, a few beeps, and a silent phone in his palm. Louis lowers it down to his lap and drops the now-free hand on the wheel, breathing out loudly. Zayn doesn’t dare to say anything about what happened or what Louis is thinking, but to Louis’ slight delight, he does at least reach out to rub a soothing hand along Louis’ thigh. It’s completely friendly, a caring gesture of love with no intentions of turning sexual even when his hand rests heavily in Louis’ lap. Without a second thought, Louis lowers his own smaller one down, laying it on top of Zayn’s cold one and squeezing.

_I don’t even know what’s wrong with me right now, but thank you,_ is what the touch whispers into the silence. It’s going to be a long drive back.

-

London brings back all of the cruel, miserable aspects of real life. There aren't open fields and family homes or a warm, homemade dinner waiting for Louis. There's just dirty streets, cheap Christmas lights, and a handful of nicely dressed people lingering along the sidewalk trying to impress invisible souls. 

Their flat isn't any more welcoming. It's refreshing to be back home, to his and Zayn's humble abode, but it's also a disappointment. Once they drag themselves and their belongings upstairs and through the front door, both of them groan in distress. The heating apparently went out while they were gone, leaving them with a frigid and cold space, barely beating the temperature outside by an extra one or two warmer degrees.

The wood still creaks all the same, or even more, under Louis' step as he goes to his room to throw his bags down. They fall haphazardly upon his messy bed, a few items spilling out onto the red sheets. As soon as he's finished the easy task, he pads to the bathroom to fix himself up - he just fluffs his hair a few times then walks away without having much to work with anyways - then goes to talk to Zayn who's already stretched across the couch with a thick blanket draped over him.

"I'm going to meet Harry for breakfast," Louis tells him, softly poking at his feet sticking out from beneath the frayed edges of the cloth. 

"Mmm," Zayn hums, barely nodding his head.

"I could say I'm gonna go kill an innocent man right now and all you would say is hmmph, wouldn't you?"

"Mmmmhm." Louis can't help but nod in understanding.

A majority of their conversations are like this. One of them tries to use actual words to explain their thoughts while the other groans and mumbles out incoherent nonsense in reply. Somehow - miraculously - they always understand each other. Louis thinks over the years he's managed to build up a Zayn Language. He's got every groan memorized and defined to a T, leaving little space for error during times like this.

"So you don't want to come then? I thought maybe you'd want some breakfast too and, you know, you could finally meet Harry." Louis is only asking out of pure fear of being alone on a breakfast date with Harry and having the conversation from earlier lingering in the air, but Zayn doesn't have to know that. Besides, Louis isn't completely lying. He does in fact care about his friend's hunger.

Zayn takes a minute to let out a sigh. "Jus' wanna fucking meet this guy already."

He rolls off of the couch and clambers to a standing position, tilting slightly to the left but still upright nonetheless.

"I love the enthusiasm!" Louis exclaims sarcastically.

"You're lucky I'm even considering going out in public wearing this after sleeping for three hours," Zayn warns. He pushes past Louis to grab his coat and a few other necessities from the kitchen counter, Louis following close behind.

"I know," he smiles. He tugs Zayn into a quick side hug, nuzzling into his warm body affectionately before yanking the front door open and heading out.

The skies have cleared up considerably since Louis last saw them. Heavy clouds still linger low above their heads, threatening to spill but they're at least not daring to while Louis and Zayn are walking in the open. 

At some point a few minutes into the walk - being guided by Louis' poor navigation skills - Zayn pulls out two cigarettes, offering one to Louis. He takes it without a second thought, holding it between his lips as he waits for Zayn to light it like the best friend that he is. The toxic substance curls into his mouth and into his lungs, creating a pleasurable pain. Not a physical pain, but a mental one, knowing that he's killing himself from the inside out one white stick at a time.

"So why did you _really_ ask me to come with you?" Zayn asks him. Louis had already been awaiting the question, but he still has no reply.

"I don't know," he says honestly. "I panicked. A little."

"Why?"

Louis buys time by taking a long, slow drag and scuffing his feet along the pavement. All he'd really like to do right now is turn into one of the random alleys they pass and drop to the ground, hold his head in his hands and let Zayn kick him til he gets back up. Facing his problems is too hard of a task.

“Because earlier I made a big deal about how I don’t deserve to be cared about-” Zayn gives him a stern look “-and he sounded upset. I don’t if if he was mad, just. He sounded disappointed. And I don’t want to talk to him alone now because I embarrassed myself and this sounded like it was meant to be a date. I'm panicking over that part too. He asked me on a date meanwhile he's still going out to clubs, licking other guys' lips. God, I'm fucking overthinking everything."

"Licking other guys' lips?" Zayn is no help in this dilemma, Louis decides. All he's doing is answering Louis' problems with more questions which is a terrible method to use on someone so dimwitted.

"Yes, Zayn, there was a post on Instagram a few days ago of him at some club locking lips with another guy. Kissing, snogging, sharing spit," Louis bites harshly, losing his patience in this subject. "I don't think they're together but it's still pretty fucked up that he's hooking up with a guy then cuddling me the night after. Metaphorically."

"So you're flipping shit because Harry has another guy under his nose and you'd rather kick yourself to the curb now and force yourself to believe that Harry doesn't care about you rather than have him ditch you for this mystery man first." Zayn sums it all up like it's easy as explaining the alphabet. It frustrates Louis. No matter what, Zayn somehow understands Louis' problems better than he does. Even after a series of annoying, repetitive questions, he comes through in the end with a simply stated summary of Louis' current situation.

"If you want to put it that way, yes," Louis says.

"Alright," Zayn nods. "Just don't pin it on him because you're insecure. You don't know who the other guy is or where their relationship stands, so you can't say it's fucked up that he's asking you out. Maybe he likes you and he doesn't think _you_ like _him,_ so he's finding other guys to distract himself from the heartache."

The idea turns over in Louis' head a few times. It's reasonable, is the thing, more reasonable than anything he's come up with and Louis doesn't want to admit that he's too much of an idiot to see something sitting right in front of him. 

"Why are you always fucking right. I hate it," Louis says exasperatedly.

"But you don't hate me," Zayn grins, bumping their shoulders.

"I could never," Louis admits quietly, though he's sure Zayn already knows that. 

"I know." Point proven. "So are you going to talk to him about it then? Confess your burning desire for him? Kiss him passionately while I pretend I'm not sitting a foot away?"

"Don't joke with me right now, I'm one tease away from a catastrophic meltdown," Louis warns meekly.

"Sorry bro," Zayn amends. "You've got to talk it out, though. Even if you don't know what to say. Spill out all of your thoughts and let him make of them what he wants because he seems to be decent at doing that already."

There are things Louis wants to say back to that, but he bites his tongue. His eyebrows press together due to his distress and he can't be bothered to smoke the rest of the cigarette, tossing it to the ground and stepping on it with his foot, hoping it's enough to put out the heat.

The rest of the walk is silent until they arrive at the front door of a cafe that looks more modern than Louis was expecting. It's called  _Déjà_ _Vu_ with no explanation as to why, but Louis notes that their sign looks pretty cool. Through the large windows, Louis can see a handful of people scattered about a few small table inside and, of course, his eyes lock straight onto the hunched figure at the table in the corner. Harry is sitting there alone in front of the glass, doing something with his fingers that Louis can't figure out. He's got his hair pulled up into a bun and some type of coat with a fur collar still resting on his broad shoulders.

It takes all of Louis willpower — and some particularly stern orders from Zayn — to drag himself through the front door and into the cafe. He isn't sure if he was expecting some grand entry or for everyone to fall silent and stare upon his gallant entrance, but nothing of either of the sorts happens. Not a single person bothers to look up at him or even take notice apart from a familiar blonde behind the front counter.

"Louis! My man!" Niall exclaims boisterously in his Irish accent, followed shortly by a radiant, toothy grin. With that, a few heads turn up and, of course, Louis glances back at Harry to find two emerald eyes locked on his own.

"Alright, mate?" Louis asks politely, managing a smile that still falls fairly short to Niall's.

"Fucking tired and bored as hell, but holding it together. Been waiting for you to walk through the door for ages now. My boy Harry has probably been waitin' twice as long though I'd say," Niall tells him. Then, he seems to notice the second presence lingering behind Louis and peps right back up again. "Who's the brooding bloke behind ya, Lou?"

Louis isn't sure when he and Niall got on a nickname basis, but he brushes it aside. He likes Niall well enough and nicknames make him feel important. 

"This," Louis wraps a feeble hand around Zayn's bicep and tugs him forward, "is my best mate, Zayn. Not brooding at all, just got that mysterious look to 'im with the tattoos and dark eyes. He's as harmless as Harry, or even more."

"Sounds well enough to me. You two sitting over with him then?" He asks, motioning towards the boy in the corner.

"Yeah."

"Alright, and what do you want to drink? Harry insisted you both — or now I guess I should say you _all_ — get French toast, so hope ye got a taste for it," Niall informs them. 

Zayn and Louis order their drinks and Niall sets off to fetch them, promising he'll be over at the table in a few minutes. They weave their way through crowded tables and chairs in the small space, moving over to Harry who Louis can't help but notice is eyeing Zayn like a scene of a crime.

"Mornin', Harry," Louis offers with a small tug of his lips. "Hope you don't mind that I brought Zayn? I figured since he was hungry too and whatnot that I could invite him along and you two could finally meet."

Harry drops his previous expression and smiles now, shaking his head. His palm spreads over a table napkin suspiciously. "No, that's fine. The more the merrier."

As Louis sits down, he really takes in the inside of the place. The walls are painted white but they're plastered with paintings and photographs of customers and awards from the city. The furniture choices aren't too bad, just simple glossy, white wood tables with colorful chairs to match. It's the sort of place Louis would only dare to set foot in with a sister in tow behind him, but right now, he can't help but embrace the happy ambiance. He needs a bit of it in his life.

"So you're the famous Harry," Zayn drawls out, his eyes matching the color of Harry's coffee.

"And you're the little-talked-about Zayn. Sarcasm strongly implied," Harry grins, casting a darting look at Louis who is sitting directly across from him. "Louis's always made you out to be a pretty cool, chill guy."

"Good on him, then," Zayn speaks as if Louis isn't right there. "In all seriousness, I'm glad he's met you though. He needs more than just me to give him attention and from what I can see, you do a pretty right job at it."

Louis stares indifferently out the window as his friends have a conversation about him as if he's nonexistent. Maybe he is. Maybe his longing for invisibility has finally paid off right in the nick of time, leaving him out of the black hole of meaningless words they're going to attempt to drag him into.

"He doesn't like all the affection, but I do try, yeah," Harry nods at Zayn. Louis pretends not to notice the gentle nudge at his dirty sneaker under the table.

"Sometimes it's difficult for him to accept that people care about him, but he comes around. As much of a tough front he puts out, he'll acknowledge-"

"Can we move to another fucking topic? Please?" He barks out the first part, interrupting Zayn and then adding the plea in a quieter, more desperate tone when they both look at him shocked.

"Yeah, course we can, Lou," Harry says earnestly. Then chatter starts up about Harry's shop and Zayn's art and where they're from. All typical, safe topics like they're trying to avoid upsetting Louis again.

At some point as they wait for their French toast to be brought out, Louis happens upon a skinny Sharpie sitting behind the napkin dispensed. He swipes it up and tugs a few brown napkins out, starting to mindlessly doodle swirls and designs and bold words all over the material. He tuned out of the conversation flowing between Zayn and Harry figuring that he should just shut up for a little bit and let them bond on their own. Normally he'd probably feel jealous of hearing Zayn laugh so easily and wholeheartedly while talking with anyone other than him, but his jealousy of Harry looking so intently at someone else as they speak sort of balances it all out.

Once half of the napkin is decorated with sloppy scrawlings, Niall is standing beside the table with three plates in hand. He sets them down in front of each of them and offers to top off any of their drinks. After he gets the needed formalities out of the way, he glances back at the new figure with a nametag standing behind the front counter and drops down into the chair beside Harry.

"Give me some of that,” he grunts at Harry, scooping a bite off of the corner with a mound of whipped cream balance on top and shoving it into his mouth.

“Sure, Niall, of course you can have some of my french toast,” Harry deadpans sarcastically bringing a happy hum from the blonde. Louis is about to give him praise for the snippy tone, but his eye catches on what Harry was hiding first.

It’s a napkin, the same that Louis was doodling on, except this one is covered in words as opposed to sloppy images. The letters are too small to read clearly, especially upside down, but it’s quite a few lines jotted down on the tiny, folded square. Song lyrics, he assumes. He can feel his interest rise and peak to the top of a high tower and it takes a lot for him to not reach across and snatch it up.

“You write?” Louis directs at Harry. His jade eyes snap up to Louis’ fiery blues, wide and filled to the brim with sudden panic. 

“Um,” Harry starts, looking down for the napkin frantically. When he spots it he grabs it too quickly to be casual and stuffs it in his jacket pocket, giving Louis a reassuring smile. “Kind of. Not really. I mean, it’s only when I have things on my mind. Jot things down to get them out of my head in a creative way.”

He does seem the type to do that, Louis notes. It’s always the quiet, pretty-faced ones who have artistic abilities whether they be in writing or creating physical artwork. Harry seems like he uses lots of big words, a plethora of metaphors, and probably doodles stars and swirls around every piece he finishes. 

“I wish I could write.” He pauses to chew a mouthful of delicious toast, revelling in the sweetness of the syrup that rests on his lips. “My journal is full of shitty quotes from people I pass by on the street and one lined stories about having super powers.”

“I’m sure they’re great,” Harry supplies. He’s got a dot of white powder resting on the rounded tip of his nose that he can't help but notice. A fleeting thought races through Louis’ mind about wanting to lick it off but he scatters it quicker than it came.

“Flattery will get you nowhere. I know they’re shit, you don’t have to try to make me feel good about them. The first thing to being a successful writer is admitting that your stuff is terrible sometimes, innit?”

“Well-” His voice cuts out like he’s suddenly lost his train of thought. The way he starts stabbing at the warm bread on his plate proves that theory. “I don’t know. I guess everyone has different views about it.”

“Yeah, they do,” Louis agrees. He can’t hold in a comment about the nose marking anymore. It’s killing Louis every millisecond that he has to try to avoid locking his gaze on it. There’s only so much force he can use to pin down his affectionate feelings towards the pure sweet innocence of the boy in front of him. “You’ve got a little powder on your nose, love.”

And oh _shit_ , he just used that term, didn’t he? That’s not a part of his plan; the plan to be friends with Harry, no more than that, and to lose all of the warmhearted, fluttery jolts of electricity through every vein in his body when he’s around him. Tender nicknames are one step forward and a two mile downhill slide backwards.

“Sorry, that last part sort of just slipped out,” Louis quickly amends. If he didn’t know any better, he would admit to sensing a rush of heat flowing to his neck and cheeks, but that never happens. It’s practically impossible. Completely unprecedented.

Beside them, Niall and Zayn are completely oblivious to the bubble that Louis and Harry are trapped in. They’re discussing types of alcohol, if Louis is hearing them correctly. Zayn doesn’t seem to be quite as reserved as he normally would which Louis takes as a good sign that Zayn trusts Niall and Harry both, but still never as much as he does Louis.

“No ― I like it. It’s nice.” Harry smiles and kicks at Louis’ foot playfully again. Then, once his lips settle to a natural flat line again, he curls a hand up to swat at his nose. The white powder comes off easily after a few quick rubs. An adorably charming action if Louis has ever seen one. “So is the french toast as good as I said it would be?”

Niall takes this chance to butt back into the conversation before Louis can even process a response. “Figured you’d be slagging me off, Styles! All that big talk about how good of a chef you are and shit!”

“You don’t make the food here therefore I can compliment it all I want. I just have to one-up you all the time because your accent sounds funny when you get offended,” Harry laughs, flicking some of the white powdery topping at Niall.

“See what you’re getting into, Louis mate? Absolute wanker! Always opening that trap and being an annoying little prick to me,” Niall grumbles with a contradictory grin. 

“Don’t scare Louis off,” Harry pouts. His bottom lip is dark and shining from being bit and licked so much in the past few minutes. It’s irresistibly attractive and Louis doesn’t bother trying to divert his mind from thinking about nibbling on the soft flesh in the dark of the night.

“Don’t worry, he’s not going anywhere,” Zayn supplies.

"Speaking on my behalf, are you Z?" Louis inquires with raised brows.

"Absolutely," Zayn smirks.

"Well at least you speak the truth," Louis smiles back. If Harry smiles wide and bright-eyed at that, only Louis has to know.

"Ah, stop with this sappy shit, I can't stand it," Niall groans, receiving a jap in the arm courtesy of Harry's sharp elbow. "Oi! Don't go hurting me when you're the one acting out of sorts!"

"I didn't even say anything, that was Louis," Harry retorts.

"Defending him then, look at you. Already protective over the bloke." A shit-eating grin splits across Niall's face like a jolt of electricity. Harry scrunches his face up as he looks down at his plate but the skin pulled across his cheeks fades to a light shade of pink, a natural blush that could almost be looked over.

"Shut up," Harry mumbles.

Niall is staring at him with some sort of knowing look on his face and a bubble of hope bursts in Louis' chest. He doesn't trust it though. Over the years, he's trusted his gut and always been let down so right now he can't get himself to believe that Harry might feel the same about him. Maybe it's true, maybe it isn't, but he won't let himself get set on a false fact that may never be true.

The rest of the breakfast 'date' passes uneventfully. They all share facts and stories about each other, laugh and tease and mock every other sentence on of them speaks. It doesn't seem like they've been thrown together so recently. Well, it's only a few of them that have just met, but it still applies to the group as a whole. Louis finds himself feeling more comfortable than he has ever before with new people and it's nice, being in that state of happiness and knowing that the others around you share it to. It's like they were meant to be together, a group of friends destined to be.

Niall takes their money — giving them a nonexistent friends-of-employees discount — and bids them all goodbyes as he goes back to his place behind the front counter of the restaurant. The other three are left alone then, their plates cleared and stomachs full. Louis licks his lips as he waits for someone to speak up first.

It's Harry.

"Are you doing anything tonight, Lou? I mean, like, I know you probably want to get home and rest since you woke up early and had to drive. And you can, that's fine, I completely understand wanting to lounge around all day, but I was just wondering if-" 

"He's not doing anything," Zayn interrupts like the questions were directed at him.

"Your name is not Louis," Louis scolds as his heart race picks up in anticipation of what Harry is going to ask.

"May as well be. I know you better than you know yourself." He doesn't say it in a snide or rude way. It's with an edge that hints at him not simply knowing Louis, but knowing what's _best_ for him and Louis has to give him that. He doesn't know where he would be right now if it weren't for Zayn's better judgement in a series of past occasions.

"So.. you're free then?" Harry asks hopefully. He's eyeing between the boys across from him, warily observing Zayn and admiring Louis with a childish glint to his eye. 

"Yes, Harry, I'm free," Louis answers, letting a reassuring smile glide onto his face to mask his anxiety.

"Great! I mean- yeah, alright. I was going to ask if you wanted to come out for drinks at some new bar tonight," Harry gets out, his voice dragging out slowly. "My friends will all be there too so you could get to meet them. They're great, really, I promise you wouldn't have to worry about them judging you or anything. Really laid back people, although they may be a little wilder than usual once they get some alcohol in them."

An alarm in Louis' mind is going off now. The thing is, he doesn't particularly enjoy meeting new people. Talking and hanging out with familiar faces he sees in class at uni is alright, but trying to converse with people he's never even heard of before is nerve wracking. It gets his insecurity levels up to a high, his brain scrutinizing everything he does. It's not a pleasant experience.

On the other hand though, he would enjoy meeting Harry's friends. They're the ones he's hand selected to associate with and they've chosen him in return, so learning about them could help Louis to better know Harry as well. Besides, he's sure that anyone Harry can label as a friend is a great person, not malicious or rude — or at least he hopes.

"That sounds great," Louis accepts the offer with a sharp grin. "Can't go wrong with getting gloriously wasted on a Sunday night, can you?"

"Nope," Harry beams, twisting a thick silver bring around his finger. "Never could, especially when I'll be with you."

Louis amusedly scoffs at that. _There's normally a line between flirting and being a complete cheeky asshole_ , he thinks to himself. _Where did it go?_

"I'm ready to go now if you are," Zayn says quietly beside him. He still seems to be half asleep, having used all of his energy talking and tormenting Louis more than he ever has before.

"Yeah I'm good," Louis confirms. He pushes his chair out and stands up, adjusting his sweatshirt as needed.

"See you tonight, then," Harry calls out before Louis leaves.

"Yeah. Tonight." He smiles in finality then turns on his heel, walking back through the aisle of tables and out the front door again. Taking a deep breath of the bitter cold air, he and Zayn set off, Louis ignoring his friend's pestering teases and cocky grins the whole way back.

-

The bar Louis stands in front of many hours later is definitely new looking. A bright glowing sign displays the name of the joint when he looks up and a sign attached to the front wall says 'NOW HIRING'. It's sleek and obviously modern, a fake rustic theme going on as he sets foot in it. It's dimly lit as every other place seems to be lately and every seat is filled, whether with groups of friends or lonely souls drowning sorrows away with too much tequila. 

There's a track playing lowly, too muffled from the voices in the room for him to distinguish specifically. At first he doesn't see Harry anywhere and panics that maybe he's at the wrong place, maybe Harry backed out and forgot to warn him. As quickly as the thoughts come, though, a familiar head of long, curly hair catches his eye at one of the rounded booths in the back corner.

Louis approaches the table warily, taking slow steps to push back the grand meeting as long as possible. He's halfway there when Harry spots him and calls his name, ruining Louis' plan instantly.

"Louis! You made it!" Harry exclaims, his face flushed already and voice higher than normal. Apparently he's already got a bit of alcohol in his system, if the empty glasses in front of him are any signification.

"That I did," Louis smiles nervously. Harry slides over closer to some ginger man to make space for Louis who slides carefully onto the edge of the seat, eyes locked on a photograph hanging on the other side of the room.

"This is Louis everyone," Harry introduces, wrapping an arm around Louis' shoulders and jerking his attention back to the group of people around them.

As soon as Louis looks up at who's sitting across from him he feels his throat tighten and a line of ice run down his spine. Sipping on a half empty bottle of beer and eyeing Louis closely is the guy from Instagram, 'Grimmy’ he recalls. The same one Harry was gleefully kissing that's been causing Louis nonstop heartache for the past treacherous day.

"And Louis, this is Ed," Harry shoulders the guy beside him, "The one beside him's Liam, that's Cher, the one by her is Jeff, and then there’s Nick. We’re a good clique.”

They all call out various hellos to Louis which he returns. Even Liam — who Louis somehow didn’t recognize at first — greets him politely, _"casually"_ asking how Zayn is. It’s a pleasant surprise that Harry happens to know Liam, something completely off the charts for what he was expecting to find tonight. One goal Louis plans to achieve now is being Zayn’s indirect wingman, especially if Liam turns out to be as good of a guy as he’s made out to be so far.

Immediately, though, there’s tension between Louis and Nick. It’s not apparent if Nick feels anything too, but Louis definitely senses something. He figures it’s just his petty jealousy getting the best of him, but. The wall is there nevertheless. 

Nick seems like a decent guy still. If Harry weren’t in the picture, Louis could see himself getting hooked to Nick’s sarcastic, blunt humor, much like his own. There’s just enough of a clash between their personalities to form a strong bond that could turn into one of the greatest love-hate relationships ever to exist. But, Harry does exist in this photo frame and that friendship could never happen because Louis is just too damn selfish for his own good.

After the polite formalities fade, it doesn’t take long for Louis to start slurring his words and laughing at nothing, his veins burning with vigorous energy. The initial anxiety he felt has been drowned out by a few beers and sips of Harry’s fruity cocktail. He feels much more comfortable being himself for once and it’s a spectacular feeling, honestly.

“So, Louis, how’d you meet Haz over here anyways?” Ed asks him, pale cheeks flushed to a dull red. 

“Bet he gave Harry a dirty blow job in some club and they couldn’t resist getting each other’s numbers afterwards,” Nick quips after a gulp from his bottle. “You seem like a pretty good cock sucker.”

“Fuck off,” Harry defends with pinched eyebrows. If Nick’s wince is anything to go by, Harry just kicked him under the table. Louis grins, hardly affected by the stabbing comment.

“ _Actually_ we met at his shop one day. I was bored so I went for a walk then got cold and found myself inside there without checking if the place was even open yet," Louis explains with a lazy smile as the memory comes back, albeit a little blurry. "He called me a king. A _king_. So sweet. Such a wonderful boy." He leans further into Harry, close enough to smell his vanilla aroma.

"Oh look at you two, cutest bloody pair of boys I've seen in years," the petite brunette named Cher coos.  

"Absolutely adorable," Nick draws, ominously swirling his drink around in one hand.

"Enough of this lovey shit," Jeff groans in what's clearly an American accent. Louis wonders how he got to be a part of this bunch. Maybe he'll ask one day when he can process coherent thoughts. "We need shots and a game to play. Any ideas?"

This sends the lot of them into a frenzy, everyone spitting out games quicker than their tongues can manage. Someone orders over some shot glasses and a bottle of tequila in the midst of it all and soon enough the requested items are sitting on the oak table, waiting to be abused. 

Louis lets his eyes dart around the packed bar as the rest of the group decide what to play. Normally any bar, pub or club would be near dead at this time on a Sunday night. Apparently the upcoming holiday and the fact that the paint on the walls of the place still fresh are both large factors that help in bringing in larger numbers.

"Loooweee," he hears beside him. The high, whiny voice belongs to Harry of course. "Are you gonna play truth or dare with us?"

"Christ, isn't that a primary school game? I thought people our age were above that now," he frowns, finding himself complaining for no real reason.

"You can never be above a classic game of truth or dare! The idea is simple pre- propo- proposterious." Harry tries to sound smart but stumbles hopelessly over the word, not quite getting it in the end. It's endearing.

"Don't be the one bleeding wanker of the group, just play. Come on, Louis," Ed pleads. The sounds of a few other voices chime in to the pleads, eventually turning into Harry threatening to lick his face unless Louis agrees. 

Of course, Louis wouldn't be opposed to that whatsoever, but he gives in anyways, much to a majority of the table's delight.

"So the rules of the game: one, no chickening or backing out of either choice; two, drink as often as you'd like; three, we don't stop til everyone's gotten a truth and a dare." Nick states the rules loudly for them all to hear. They all roll their eyes and nod when he asks if they understand. "Great, let's start with our guest of honor then."

Louis takes that as a reference to him and reaches for the empty bottle, spinning it where it rests, anxiously awaiting to see who it lands on. With a spur of luck it lands on Liam, the one person apart from Harry who he's known at least longer than two hours. 

"Truth or dare, Payno?" He asks, waggling his brows ridiculously.

"How d'you know my last name?" Liam questions, eyeing him curiously.

"The squirrels told me," he responds in seriousness. "Now what'll it be?"

Liam stays quiet for a moment, pondering over the options. "Truth."

"Always playing it safe, you buzzkill," Cher chastises. Liam shrugs.

"Okay.." He trails off, trying to think of a proper question worthy of a drunken game of truth or dare. "Ah! Yeah! Have you ever fucked of been fucked by anyone sitting here?"

Harry let's out an obnoxious "oooo" and falls into Louis' side giggling as they wait for Liam's response. Heat radiates off of his body, filtering into Louis' own. It's not uncomfortable in the slightest. In truth, he wishes they could stay like this forever, pressed against each other, spreading warmth, laughing at nothing due to the presence of mind-altering substances flowing through their bloodstreams.

"Yes, but I won't say who," Liam grins, gulping down a shot as a reward for his great mysteriousness.

"Wasn't me," Harry sings. He gets very cuddly and free spirited and loud when he's drunk. So far every word that's come out of his mouth has been high pitched and followed by a bright smile.

"Me neither," Ed and Jeff confirm at the exact same time, shooting each other impressed looks.

"Was it you then, Cherry pie?" Harry infers. "Or Nicky-wick?"

"Good God you get embarrassing when you're drunk," Nick grimaces. "But no, it wasn't me."

Cher shoots a shocked look at Liam and throws a bit of a napkin at him. "You're a fucking liar! You haven't slept with anyone here!"

"That's a disqualification, innit?" Louis bursts. 

"Oh who cares, someone else just spin the fucking bottle," Liam grunts unhappily, apparently upset over being caught for his lie.

So the game continues smoothly for the most part. There are a few bickering debates formulated by the alcohol, but nothing too large. In a matter of a few more rounds, Cher has spilt that she hooked up with one of her teachers in a supplies closet once, Ed has chugged a bottle of beer with no hands, and Jeff has done a short strip tease for a table of middle aged women across the room.

When it's Liam's turn to spin the bottle and pick the unfortunate doom of another person, the nozzle lands on Nick. Everyone laughs as Nick pops his knuckles, talking dirty words to Liam in a threatening way.

"Dare," Nick announces proudly.

Liam takes no time at all in responding, "I dare you to snog anyone at this table. Full on making out, tongues and everything."

The other man raises his brows and begins to slowly scan each one of them, nodding and narrowing his eyes as he makes his way round. Predictably, his gaze eventually stops on Harry, locking eyes with the younger boy who is still glued to Louis' side at the moment. Louis' subconscious guides him in placing a hand on Harry's thigh below the view of the others.

"Get over here, Harold," Nick says. His words aren't nearly as slurred as Louis would think they should be, and he uses that thought to fill the growing angry pit in his stomach. Simply jealousy over his tolerance to drinking. Nothing more, nothing less.

At first, Harry doesn't seem to want to move. He hums just loud enough for Louis to hear, eyeing Nick carefully. For a second Louis lets himself believe that maybe he won't go over there at all, that he can sense Louis' unease and is going to stick beside him. Unfortunately, Louis was wrong. When is he not.

"Needa get out," Harry says lazily, knocking into Louis gently.

It takes every last bit of alertness and control he has to briskly stand up, just barely enough so Harry can clumsily stumble off of the bench and move around to the other side. He sits back down quickly, fearing that his legs could actually give out. By the time he's done that though, he casts a glance up and sees Harry already resting in Nick's lap, their faces mere centimeters apart. A giggly, flushed expression rests unchanging on Harry's face while Nick has a darker mask on his, something menacing glinting in his eyes to Louis' distaste.

The bittersweet burn of the tequila dances across his tongue as he gulps down another shot, setting it down just in time to catch the moment of impact. It's not only an impact of Harry's lips landing on Nick's, but of some nuclear weapon blowing straight at the main artery to Louis' heart. He never thought it could hurt so much seeing someone he likes joining together with another man in such a way like this, but here he is. Being proved blatantly wrong once again.

It takes no time at all for the kiss to deepen, heating up as catcalls float through the air. Everyone is entranced by the scene. Louis himself can't help but stare as Harry shifts back and forth, wrapping two arms around the back of Nick's thin neck and pulling himself closer. From this angle it's hard to tell exactly what's going on between their mouths, but Louis isn't sure if he'd even want to know anyways.

For some reason, there's still words lingering in the back of the tiny coherent area of his mind (although he feels like he's sobered up quite a bit suddenly). The things Niall told him days ago. About Harry liking him, thinking they were soul mates, wanting to be together or whatever shit the blonde went on about. He planted ideas in Louis' head that Harry actually returned his feelings and Louis let them grow. Without proper trimming and too much watering, the seeds grew to a blown out factual fantasy of him and Harry getting together, being happily content in each other's arms knowing that they're emotions are mutual.

Louis is an idiot. A full-through, three hundred percent certified fucking _idiot_.

Tears threaten to pool over at the backs of his eyes the longer he watches the two men across from him get caught up in the act, in each other. Blindly, he reaches out to grab another shot, a glass of beer, the full bottle of tequila, _anything_ to help drown out all of his senses but nothing is within reach. He's just left with no devices, hopeless and helplessly heartbroken in a frozen state of disappointment.

Without much thought, he shrugs back on his coat and snatches his phone from the table, stuffing it in one of the front pockets. There's a second where he goes to announce his departure with a weak lie but he decides against it before he does so, instead opting to quietly slide over a twenty pound note and slip away from the booth before any of the drunken bodies can notice.

As soon as the frigid air hits him outside, Louis loses control. He sets off down the sidewalk without bothering to check which way he's going or where it'll lead him. The acidic tears pour from his eyes, burning streaks across his cheeks no matter how tightly he shuts them and bats at them with his feeble hands. It's cold enough outside that they dry to his face instantly anyways, but the fact that they aren't rolling down to his chin is somewhat unsatisfactory to him. He faintly believes he needs the feeling of them dripping off the edge of his chin just to finalize the fact that he's broken and he's lost, mentally and physically.

After a few minutes of pacing down the side of the road, he slows his steps, approaching a parking garage. Normally he never uses them, either walking places in the city, calling a cab, riding the tube or - in rare cases - driving his own car. Never has he had to park in one of the various towering garages such as this. Right now though, he feels like it could make do for a place to be alone for a little while since he's decided he doesn't want to talk with Zayn about any of this right now.

So he sets inside slowly, carefully eyeing the graffiti plastered walls. There's a faint smell of oil and dust, nothing pleasant at all, but it suits the mood. The eeriness of the empty building makes the perfect setting for having an emotional breakdown. 

He finds his way around the lot, stumbling half-drunkenly up the echoing metal steps built in one of the corners until he reaches the top platform. There's no ceiling up there, leaving only the smog-clouded skies as his protective umbrella. There's only one single white car resting in one of the spots along the wall on the other side of where he stands, so he figures there shouldn't be any disturbances.

The barrier surrounding the perimeter is at least a foot thick and made of pure concrete. As carefully as possible he climbs on top of it, letting his feet dangle over the edge as he rests his palms flat beside him.

As much as it seems like he should be afraid, he isn't. Not really. Sure, there's always the slim chance that he could lean too far over the edge and fall the three high stories down to the hard ground, but he isn't focusing on that. There are too many things racing around uncontrollably in his head for him to be bothered with something as minimal as his own death.

Sitting up on top of the parking garage is peaceful. It's a sort of self mediation he never would've thought to try if he was sober and sad enough to be seeking a treatment of the sorts anyways. His view casts out over the dark streets below, a few cars passing by every now and then without the headlights reaching high enough to disrupt his sheet of nighttime. Above his head, there are no clouds but still the previously mentioned smog blocking out the stars Louis knows are hiding behind it. It's sad living in the city because they're never visible anymore, unlike how they are further out in the country. It's why he has fake ones placed above his bed.

Stars are the connections to other worlds. On other planets, you could still see the same stars as you do here on Earth. Louis likes the idea that maybe somewhere out there there's a sad alien just like him, looking out at the radiant balls of light searching for an answer to a question that hasn't been defined yet.

"What the fuck am I goin on about," he mumbles to himself.

The wind isn't strong tonight luckily. It still bites at him all the same though, even as weak as it is. His wet face dries quickly and his nose and ears turn bright red from the temperature. It's not a smart move to be where he is at the moment in the middle of winter, crying like a child, but there aren't many other options. At least none that he can come up with with only half on his brain still functioning.

Once he remembers the pack of cigarettes in his pocket, his mood raises from a deep, rocky bottom to a more acceptable plates tur, though he's still thoroughly stuck in a rut. Toxic chemicals stain his lungs but he soaks up the feeling of it. The more drags he takes, the more he distances his mind from Harry.

_Harry._

The name by itself causes a stabbing pain in about ten different spots in Louis' body. 

He doesn't know how it got to this point. There's no reasonable explanation as to how he let himself fall into the unrealistic belief that Harry had feelings for him. Hell, there's nothing he can say as reason why he feels such immense emotions towards the boy anyways. 

All of the memories of him and Harry together blue into a messy canvas of confusion and anguish. They've all been to nice, so bittersweet when he looks back at them. It was all of those careless moments of flirting and bonding that have led him to this point now, balancing on a ledge about a hundred feet from the freezing ground.

For some reason he can't stop thinking about what Harry is doing right now. Maybe he hasn't noticed Louis' disappearance yet and is still caught up in a make out session with Nick (a sight that happens to cause much more distress in person than it can through a mobile phone),  or maybe he's noticed but doesn't care. Yeah, that's probably it, he reasons. No one ever gives a shit about him or his actions anyways, so why should this be any different?

Without checking his phone at all, Louis sits in the parking garage debating the imbalances of the universe and his life. Hours may pass, he couldn't tell the difference. All he knows a while later is that it was nearing one when he left the bar and every limb in his body is stone cold now, his blood running the thinnest it can get.

Reasoning that he may _actually_ take his last breath if he stays any longer, Louis reluctantly drops back off the wall, landing gracelessly on his feet. The first thing he notices when he touches the ground is that his head is pounding deeply and his drunkenness seems to have faded to a dull, earlier-than-normal hangover. The chilly air and five cigarettes he dropped to the ground probably have something to do with that.

A lone taxi cab picks him up. The man in the front seat seems thrown off by the fact that Louis doesn't have a giggling girl curled up onto his lap when he climbs in and Louis doesn't have it in him to find it amusing. 

The driver pulls up in front of Louis and Zayn's building soon enough and Louis tosses him the proper amount of money for the ride. He sluggishly maneuvers up the stairs since the elevator has been broken for God knows how long. When he steps into the flat once again, a rush of relief washes over him. Warmth and Zayn and cereal and his bed all await him in here.

He sets his jacket on the back of the couch and kicks his shoes off to the side. Zayn seems to already be asleep, if the quietness is anything to go by. Louis assumes that Zayn didn't bother waiting up for his return because when Louis had a life and used to go out more than he took a piss, he never arrived back until early hours in the morning. That schedule wasn't hard for someone to memorize. With that, he's reminded to check the time and peers over to the analog clock on the wall. It takes a minute but he finally reads three thirty.

He ends up in Zayn's bed somehow. He just- it doesn't feel right to be alone. There's a need in his stomach for someone, the heat of a body next to his own. It's only natural that he decides the best thing to do would be to quietly crawl into Zayn's bed and make himself at home in the cinnamon scented sheets.

With one final groan and whine of self loathing and pity, Louis passes out. All he can hope is that he wakes up in the morning with no sign of puffy eyes and a horrible nightmare to shake from his head.

-

As it turns out, it wasn't a dream.

The next morning — after he comes to terms with the fact that Harry really did kick him to the curb to casually kiss Nick right in front of him — Louis finds himself nestled next to Zayn on their couch, a blanket spread over them. He doesn't feel hungover sick, no, but his nose is stuffy and his throat is sore leaving him with half a step above the equivalent.

Zayn, being the wonderful best friend that he is, took it upon himself to go out and buy donuts for breakfast — turns out that he knew something was up when he awoke to Louis nestled into the curve of his back. He got all of Louis' favorite kinds too like strawberry frosted, cream-filled, and red velvet. Needless to say it's one bright event in the midst of a series of disasters.

"What time did you get home last night?"

"I don't know," Louis answers truthfully. He nibbles at his pink donut, barely hungry for it.

Zayn nods. "You have a good time then? Are his friends dicks?"

"No, they aren't dicks. They're nice. For the most part I guess. Liam was there too," he says casually, catching Zayn's surprised reaction. "Yes, _your_ Liam." The subject change is nonchalant. Louis has mastered the technique

"He's not _my_ Liam, you prick," Zayn mutters.

"Sorry, Louis sniffs.

"It's fine. I'm glad you enjoyed yourself but you're gonna have to tell me what's wrong at some point."

And so it goes for the rest of the morning, pointless conversations and quiet questions. None of the words hold weight behind them because Louis can sense that Zayn isn't ready to talk about whatever relationship he has with Liam and apparently Zayn can sense his hesitance to discuss the previous night.

When Zayn leaves for work at a bit past noon, the sun is shining mockingly and Louis feels disgusting. He can barely breathe now and no amount of tea is helping his throat. The gleaming rays pouring in through the windows only serve to tease him vehemently, dancing along his fingers while he distracts himself with a vigorous game of FIFA on his secondhand Playstation.

He checks his phone twice throughout the day; once to text Zayn to pick up Chinese for dinner, another out of plain curiosity as to who’s tried to contact him. Harry's texted him about seven times since he left the bar, most with equal sorriness seeping through the letters.

_loiuuisss whehr di u goo_

_comenback ):::_

_Hey sorry about those last messages from last night. Guess I just got a bit worried when you left.._

_I don't really remember much from last night, did I do something wrong? Did I do something to you?_

_Ed told me what happened. Think I know why you're ignoring me. Could we talk soon? x_

_Hey I was just wondering if you're doing okay. I really need to talk to you.. Text back when you can. xx_

_Sorry I'll leave you alone now. Have a great day Lou_

The last message has no kisses at the end, he notes. Louis still doesn't feel bad for ignoring him. He just can’t get himself to say something back though because what can he say, really? Harry’s hurt him whether he was too drunk to realize it or not and now he deserves a decent punishment, even if it only consists of being shut out for a few days.

He’ll probably give in on his birthday — the dreaded dooms-day that’s a mere seventy two hours away. Twenty one year old him is selfish and chooses to be lazy and bask in sadness by his lonesome, but maybe twenty two year old Louis will be different. As soon as the clock ticks over to December 24th, maybe he’ll be a whole new person with a completely different lifestyle and outward view on the world.

More than likely that won’t be the case, though, because who would he be without ten pounds of disheartening weight sitting on his shoulder plainly visible to everyone around him?

-

The night before his birthday, something happens. Louis isn’t sure whether he should call it spectacular or not, but something definitely does occur.

He’s lounging shirtless on the couch - which has been his claimed spot for the last few days - with sweatpants tied loosely on his bony hips and hair looking like a dirty, disheveled mess. Showering is necessary for daily life so he has taken one of course, but it doesn’t help much when he sits outside with wet hair to smoke, letting the dirty smells of the city cancel out the apple-scented soap he uses and causing his hair to dry fluffy and wavy. The minor cold he caught on Sunday turned out to be nothing more than a one day endeavors, although he still finds himself sniffling once or twice every few minutes.

As he stares blankly at the television screen flipping through various channels without reading what’s even on, Zayn walks through the door. Louis knows it must be raining when he hears the rubber boots squeaking noisily on the wood panels. 

“Lou, I got something for you,” Zayn calls out as he comes closer, shoes abandoned at the door. When he steps into view, Louis meekly tilts his head up and eyes the big lump in Zayn’s old zip-up jacket.

“The fuck is that?” He nods towards said lump, his face contorted into an expression of confusion.

Zayn doesn’t respond. Instead, he grins softly and let’s go of the part of the jacket he was using to hide his arm. As he reveals what he had hidden, Louis feels his eyes widen.

“Zayn,” Louis clips, pulling himself upright while Zayn comes to sit beside him. 

As much as he tries to look away, Louis can’t peel his eyes from the kitten curled up in his friend’s arms. It’s a tiny thing, just a bit too large to hold in one hand. It’s fur is a smooth, milky white color, replicating the dish Louis has resting on the top shelf of one of their cupboards. At the moment the animal seems to be asleep, it’s face tucked away behind one leg, but the tail is moving slowly, brushing up and down Zayn’s bicep.

“Isn’t she cute,” Zayn asks, stroking _her_ back and looking down with a face that should be saved for when he sees his first-born child. “I know you don’t like cats, but you’ve seemed upset and I wanted to do something. I was going to get a dog but the lady at the shelter said it wouldn’t work since we live up in a flat. So she offered to show me the cats and mentioned that this one was born about a month ago and is blind in one eye, meaning that she wouldn’t be adopted quickly. I couldn’t say no, Lou. Just _look_ at her. She's so fucking adorable.”

Zayn is ridiculously soft when it comes to animals. He’s one of those people who refuses to fish because he hates the way they flop around in pain and he always stops to pet strangers’ dogs when they walk through the park, complimenting the obscure breeds and boasting to Louis about it afterwards. Louis really should’ve been expecting this moment from the day they decided to move in together.

“Can I-” Louis breaks off and Zayn gets the message. He hands the tiny cat over to Louis who finds himself smiling fondly as he watches her yawn and try to curl back into a ball in his lap. “I can’t believe you adopted a bloody cat. Without consulting me. We can barely take care of _ourselves_ , Zayn."

"If I had asked you, it wouldn't have been a surprise now would it? And we can carry ourselves fine. All we need to do is feed her and get a collar," Zayn shrugs. "Oh, we need a name too. Any ideas?"

Louis ponders it. He's terrible with naming things, always has been. At one point when he was five, he had a fish named Bag because it was what the small thing was swimming around in when him mum handed it to him. Some years later came the dog named Ted. "I don't think you should give me this job."

"Come on, think of something." Zayn urges him on as he plays with the kitten's paw.

"Okay. Well, she’'s blind in one eye right?" Zayn nods in confirmation. "So we name her Popeye."

"Christ, mate, you said you were bad but that's just terrible."

Louis huffs and slouches back into the couch cushions. "Well you fucking name it then! I didn't want the thing anyways!"

The narrowed-eye gaze Zayn casts him has Louis calming down again. He still hasn't told Zayn anything about what happened on Sunday, so he has no excuse to be losing his temper when it's his own fault that he's so wound up. Below him, the cat wakes up, standing and looking up at Louis with one bright blue eye and a duller, milky colored one. He instantly feels bad about referring to her as a thing.

"She's got blue and white eyes and white fur. Think we could call her Winter?" Louis mends. She meows and both of the boys grin at each other, seemingly thinking the same thing. "I think she likes it."

"Yeah, that'll fit well. Maybe could've gone with something more heroic and different, but I like Winter too." As Zayn speaks, Winter starts climbing up Louis, using his slanted form to paw her way right up to his shoulder. She licks his cheek and he scrunches his face, the feeling of the rough tongue quite odd against his stubble.

Louis can't help but smile and leaves her to climb all over him all while Zayn orders them the Chinese Louis asked for earlier. He still feels quite shitty in general and doesn't want tomorrow to come, but the cat helps. Zayn helped.

He helps later too when Louis finally breaks down and pours his heart out, spilling all of his dirty secrets about being jealous and heartbroken after watching Nick and Harry kiss. He gives a detailed description of what happens, but carefully skips over the part about the parking garage. One day if he needs to escape again, he could go back there and he'd rather not have anyone else know about it.

"He kissed him, Zayn. He could've said no but he didn't, he just fucking asked me to move so he could get to the other side of the table," Louis explains, trying not to tear up. As much as he loves Zayn, there's still shame in showing vulnerability.

There’s a container of fried rice balanced between them and Winter is sleeping in the crevice where Louis sinks down into the couch. It’s not the right mood for an emotional talk, but it’s happening anyways.

“Oh, Lou,” Zayn says quietly, frowning. “That’s why you’ve been upset. God, that fucking prick.”

“No, it’s- Harry’s not a prick. He’s sweet, just. Clueless I think,” Louis manages. “Niall told me Harry thinks we’re soulmates or some shit like that, but I think he just acts on impulse. He falls in love with everyone. Love life, loves anyone he meets on the street, gets caught up in emotions too fast without them even needing to be real.”

“Yeah that would make sense,” Zayn nods. “Are you sure though? He really doesn’t like you in _that_ way?”

“Almost certain,” Louis admits. He starts thinking about the situation he’s in, the way he was lead to believe one thing and then had it ripped from beneath his feet. “You know, I really thought this was my chance to be happy. I let myself believe that I’d be with Harry and we’d fall in love and life would be a better thing. God, Zayn, I’m so stupid. I just wanted to be fucking happy.”

He can’t help the way he chokes on the last word and breaks off into a soft cry. It’s not a sob, more of a harmless cry. Tears streak down his face as he presses his palms into his eyes, shuddery breaths taken and escaping.

“You can be happy, you just have to make it happen yourself. You can’t let a person take that right away from you or make you think that you can’t find happiness without them. It’s your life, Louis, just- do things you enjoy. Work until you forget Harry and the pain he’s causing.”

“But I don’t want to forget him! That’s the problem!” Louis exclaims feverishly. “I can’t just act like I didn’t have such strong feelings for him and act like what little we had wasn’t amazing. There’s no way I can stop being friends with completely. I still care too much. It’s terrible― I can avoid things for so long but then as soon as I’m attached I can’t let anything go. I can’t let Harry go, but I feel like I _have_ to and I don’t know what to do.”

Zayn doesn’t respond for a moment. He moves the food to the coffee table and reaches out to move Winter as gently as possible, laying her down on a loose pillow on the floor. Then, he scoots over right beside Louis, hooking an arm over his shoulder and tugging him into his chest for a firm hug.

“Why am I like this, Zayn? I don’t even have a bloody reason for being so fucked up. No sob story, nothing.” The wetness pouring from his eyes soaks into Zayn’s thin sweater, creating a cluster of what look like clear paint splatters. 

“Don’t you tell me you’re fucked up or I’ll kick you out of this flat. You know I will.” He manages a small snuff of a laugh at that. “See, you _know_.”

Zayn’s rubbing a soothing pattern up and down his spine and over his pointed shoulder blades. It makes things a lot better. Knowing that someone’s there, someone cares, he may be an idiot but he isn’t alone. It truly is wonderful. He’s so lucky to have Zayn and he tells him so.

“I’m a lot luckier to have you,” Zayn confirms into his neck. “Who else would I find that shares my love of superheroes and cheap wine?”

“No one,” Louis smiles. 

Eventually they separate, to Louis’ disappointment. He wants to burrow himself underneath Zayn’s arm and stay there for eternity, close to his beating heart and protected from the cruelty of the real world. Sadly that’s impossible, so he opts for pulling his new kitten up to his chest and cuddling it.

Winter is startled when she’s moved, but after she sniffs Louis’ fingers she loosens up in his arms, purring under the brush of his fingertips. As much as he tends to lean towards dogs and loathes cat due to the incident with his sister’s cat so many years ago, Winter is breaking him down. She’s too sweet and innocent for her own good, almost like- 

No.

Not right now.

A few hours later, at one minute to twelve, Louis sits on the floor by the Christmas tree, a bottle of some no-name brand bottle of cherry wine held in his fist. It’s already been opened so it just sits now, awaiting for a pair of lips to wrap around it’s top and sip it down. Louis and Zayn will be the co-partners in the action tonight.

When the numbers on his phone flip, going from the 23rd to the 24th of December, Louis lifts the bottle and takes down a large gulp. It’s a tradition they do each year. They don’t drink much, don’t get drunk or even tipsy. They just take a few sips between each other and then call it a night, saving the daytime for staying inside, loose and lazy from the amount of alcohol they’ll take in. It’s unconventional and exactly how they like it.

“To another year of staying alive in this world of savages,” Louis announces, passing the wine to Zayn who follows.

When they’ve both got their gulps of the terrible, terrible drink down, they bid goodnights to each other. Zayn gives Louis a pat on the ass, a fist bump and then a loving hug which describes their relationship to a T. Best friends with lost sexual tension and an incredible amount of love. Exactly how it should be and why Louis falls asleep easier tonight than he ever has before.

-

It’s storming when Louis awakens sometime near noon. Peering out the window, he notes the near black skies and the sheets of rain falling relentlessly to the ground. Rumbles of thunder rollin relentlessly and he sighs. Sighs then pads into the living room where he’s met with a sight that turns his lips up into a grin.

Hanging above the wall on the other side of the room is a series of sheets of paper decorated to spell out happy birthday. There are some streamers hanging from random spots around the flat making Louis laugh at Zayn’s lazy attempt at decorating. On the kitchen counter, there’s a single cupcake with a candle stuck in it which is apparently Zayn’s idea of a cake.

On the couch lays the mastermind behind it all. Louis assumes he meant to stay up and greet Louis with a warm embrace and a series of _“Happy birthday you son of a bitch.”_ -es. Zayn’s dressed in the Spiderman sleeping pants that match Louis’ and a white shirt with paint stains on it. He wore it the one and only time that he and Louis decided to spray paint a building which ended with them getting half of the word ‘KINGS’ spelt out then fleeing from the scene after hearing a siren in the distance. It was a valiant attempt at least.

On Zayn’s chest, right underneath his neck, Louis spies a mound of white fur. He’s almost jealous at the two of them laying comfortably together, sound asleep as the storm rages on outside. 

“Pitiful,” he mumbles in response to the sight.

Moving to sit on a stool at the bar, Louis slumps a head in his hand and starts picking at the cupcake. It’s chocolate with vanilla frosting which isn’t his favorite, but delicious nonetheless. He sets the candle aside to start licking at the swirl of soft sugar swirled on top. He makes good progress on it even with his slight loss of appetite- the evidence of cold heartbreak. 

Surprisingly, just as a round of thunder breaks through the air, another sound startles Louis to alertness. There’s a quiet knocking at the front door. It may be his birthday, but no one ever comes to visit him and it’s not like he has anyone who would want to visit _anyways_.

He moves slowly to the door, afraid of who might be standing behind the slab of wood. With a quick ruffle of his dirty hair he twists the lock and turns the knob. As the door pulls back, it reveals the figure of someone that was the last on the list of people Louis was expecting.

Wearing a long trench coat and ripped up boots, dripping from head to toe with dirty rainwater is the reason for the constant hollow feeling in his heart. With long hair flattened to his head and slightly bruised knuckles gasping a small box and a single rose is the reason Louis has been in such a miserable state for the past three days. Standing before him is Harry in all of his pale-skin, rosy-cheeked glory.

“Hi,” Harry says. He stares right into Louis’ eyes and as much as he wants to look away, Louis’ gaze is locked. “I’m sorry.”

His heartbeat is picking up as he processes that Harry is holding a rose and a chill spreads through his body at the fact that Harry is there at all.

“That’s nice,” he says coldly.

The quick wince and solemn look in Harry’s eyes can’t be missed. “Could I come in?”

“Why?”

“Because we need to talk,” Harry states. “You know we need to talk too. Avoiding me won’t solve anything. And I know this could turn out bad, but I’m willing to take a risk if you’d give me a chance?”

Really, he should slam the door in Harry’s face and continue to blindly ignore him for a while longer. He isn’t emotionally ready to give Harry any kind of chance right now especially when it could end with him teary eyed and feeling as bad as he did originally. He isn’t thinking rationally though. He never does.

“Alright,” he nods curtly, pulling the door wider for Harry to step through. “We can just- my room. Zayn’s on the couch so we can, um, talk in there.”

Harry follows him to the bedroom with squeaking shoes and a trail of water droplets falling behind him. Louis looks him over for a quick second then decides to be a kind person. He grabs a large towel from the bathroom and tosses it to Harry who smiles smally at the gesture. He wipes himself down quickly then folds the towel to set underneath him as he drops to sit on the edge of the bed.

Louis stays standing because it gives him more dominance in the situation. He may be the vulnerable, hurting one here but he sure as hell will still make Harry look up at him the entire time.

“So what do we need to talk about?” Louis asks with a stern expression.

“Lou,” Harry starts, “you know. Our relationship. What happened on Sunday.”

“Ah, yes, let’s start with Sunday. A great idea.” Louis braces himself.

“I kissed Nick.” And wow, he wastes no time does he? 

“That you did.”

“It meant nothing. I mean that with every bit of me,” Harry explains. “When I drink I sort of just forget who people are and what they are to me. I get needy and cling to the first person who shows me some kind of affection. Obviously it was Nick with his offer to kiss me that got me riled up and I went for it. I’m so sorry about it, I know it was rude to do that in front of you-”

Louis cuts him off with a scoff. “You’re just apologizing for being _rude_ in front of me? You aren’t going to say anything about cuddling up to me then asking me to move out of the way so you could suck off his face? You can’t blame everything on drunkenness either, you know. It doesn’t work like that so don’t think I’m going to drop to my knees for you as soon as you say some meaningless, bullshit apology.”

Harry seems taken aback by Louis’ sudden lashing out. It seems like he wasn’t prepared for him to put up a fight which angers Louis even more. Did Harry really expect to cause shit then get out of it unscaved after some sappy, one-lined apologies?

“I’m sorry, I mean, I wasn’t trying to do that. Not at all. I know it’s not all due to having too much to drink. But to be honest, I didn’t actually know that you, um, _cared_ about me kissing other guys?” It comes out like a hesitant question rather than a statement. Harry’s tangling his fingers together, twisting and pulling at them.

“Well Christ, Harry, I’m sorry for taking your flirting for the past month as a sign that you maybe liked me! You know, Niall told me some things about how you said we were soulmates or whatever. It truly made me believe that I had a chance with you and that you wanted a chance with me, but then you went and did that and now you say you didn’t even notice the emotional impact of it-” Louis laughs humorlessly. “Obviously Niall misinformed me.”

“He didn’t. I did say that and I meant all of it, I promise. It’s just new information now that you feel the same,” Harry says quietly.

Louis pauses. “Oh.”

“But now that I do know, I- Oh my God, Louis, I see what that whole situation did now. I was cuddling you and then just brushed you off for Nick.” Harry starts rubbing along his bottom lip as his eyes widen with panic. He looks up at Louis desperately. “I’m _so_ sorry, Louis. I’m such an idiot, I should’ve realized why you were upset over it earlier, I can’t believe I didn’t catch that. I’m sorry, please know that. I didn’t mean to hurt you, I would _never_ mean to hurt you.”

There’s a static between them now. It’s charged with positives and negatives, not balancing out but instead bouncing around, all trying to find a neutral ground. Louis feels like he could pass out or be sick at any moment. Here he was, standing ready to yell at Harry and then kick him out so he could cry alone at how he couldn’t have Harry. And now, here he is, being told that his feelings are returned and Harry never meant harm, proving how clueless _both_ of them are.

“I think we’re both idiots, Harry,” he decides. “You thought I wasn’t interested and didn’t think I would be affected by you kissing someone else. I thought you were interested at first, then was put off by the fact that you kissed Nick and automatically assumed that it meant there was no way you could feel the same.We both made mistakes.”

“Maybe, but what I did-”

“Was fine. I forgive you for it,” Louis breathes out. Saying the words feels like a heavy weight being lifted off his ribs, allowing him to breathe. “Can we- I don’t know, can we just forget Sunday happened? Please? And start this talk over?”

Harry smiles teary-eyed up at him. “Yeah. Of course.”

Louis returns a faint smile then sets himself down beside Harry, avoiding the wetness still lingering to him. even with the scent of rain, Harry smells like sweet vanilla and even as the lightning strikes outside, his smile lights up the entire room.

Being this close once again allows Louis to focus on every feature of his face. The pink lips, glowing eyes, stray curls that brush across the edges of his cheeks. They’re all small things that he loves about Harry. He can’t help but think back to all of the time they’ve spent together the past few weeks even when they just met. They bonded so quickly, hung around each other for hours on end without running into a dull moment. 

Harry is so lovely, so wonderful. And now Harry is handing him a rose and the wrapped box that have been resting in his lap this entire time.

“These are for you,” he whispers. “Happy birthday.”

Louis smiles at the remembrance. Hesitantly, he pulls at the edges of the red paper, casting a questioning look at Harry. With the confirming nod and grin that the boy gives him, Louis starts tearing the present opening until all that rests in his hands is a thick, brown leather journal. Across the front _‘just a little bit of your heart is all i want’_ is written sloppily in familiar, slanted handwriting. Louis’ heart is buzzing with a dull sense of joy threatening to break through all the sadness built up.

“I got you a journal because I remember you said you love to write and I didn’t know if you had one or not. It’s not anything special really, so I wrote something on the cover to make it more personal,” Harry explains.

“Did you come up with that line yourself then?” Louis questions.

“Yeah,” Harry nods. Out of the corner of his eye Louis can see the smirk spreading. “I actually wrote it about you a while back. When we first met.”

“Really?” It seems insane to think Harry would write that when they only knew each other for a short bit. Like he guessed before, though, Harry is someone who falls in love with a new person everyday.

“As soon as we talked that first day I knew you were someone special. I didn’t like you romantically yet, but I still wanted to get to know you and be close with you. I just wanted a little bit of your heart.” His cheeks flush pink and it’s such a lovely sight that Louis can nearly feel himself bursting with love.

And that’s when it hits him. Hard, like a freight train; quick, like a bullet; all at once, like a dropped box of rose petals. He loves Harry. He loves everything about him, every little bit from his personality to his pigeon toed stance and from the freckle above his lip to the cackle he lets out when he laughs too hard. 

“Harry I-” He starts to say then chokes up. But Harry’s already looking at him curiously now, and there’s no turning back now that he’s already one step out the door. “I think I might love you, actually.”

For some reason, the moment isn’t as spectacular as he always hoped it would be the first time he said it and truly meant it. There’s no champagne popped, no blinding flashes of light, no deafening cheers. There’s only the patter of rain hitting the window and a sharp intake of breath from Harry.

Then, before he knows what’s happening, his lips are captured in two strange ones. Harry’s lips - as much as he’s imagined it - are _thousands_ of times better than any fantasy he’s had of them. They collide against his own with a passionate force, a burst of energy that transfers through easily. 

Harry parts his lips only to lightly bite at Louis’ bottom one, so gentle that Louis barely notices it happening. It feels like a dream. Like it isn’t really happening, it’s simply another fey vision following a dream about him becoming a superhero. There’s no way that a moment this wonderful, happy, and oh-so pleasurable could be real life. At least, it doesn’t seem like it could be Louis’ life.

But it is. Harry is actually kissing him, tenderly and loving, saying a silent response to Louis’ admission. It’s not hard to decode the words, but Harry does it for him anyways.

“I love you for sure, Lou. I love with all of my heart. Not a bit of doubt.” He says it so earnestly that Louis can’t get himself to make a joke about Harry trying to upshow him.

Finally they part and sit gazing at each other, lips wet and colored bright shades of pink. Louis pushes his hair back from where it’s fallen into his eyes.

“Guess I should wake Zayn to introduce him to my boyfriend then, right?” Louis asks, grinning wickedly at Harry who mirrors his expression.

“It’d only be polite,” he replies with blatant fake nonchalance.

And there the day turns into what Louis would have never guessed it would. Louis and Harry break the news to Zayn, who pours hugs and small words of caring nature to Louis along with secret whispers to Harry. They get spectacularly drunk still, not daring to break tradition, but they do it altogether rather than just Zayn and Louis for once. Harry coos over the cat non stop,which makes an unbearable adorable scene for Louis to put up with. 

The night ends with a chain of laughter which is something rare. For so long Louis has waited to stumble upon happiness, hoping to find it in parks or ice cream shops, after strolls down the streets or games of footy in the park. He’s always imagined that one day he’d have someone to pester him about his terrible smoking habits and lounge around in the same, comfortable clothes that he lives in daily.

Never had he expected to find his happiness in a hidden bookshop within a beautiful stranger named Harry.

 


End file.
